When feathers appear, angels are near.
Have you ever heard that phrase?
I’m not sure where I heard it the first time… maybe one of those psychic medium shows.
I’m not sure how much of that stuff I really believe anyway.
Angels? Sure, I think they exist, but are they really trying to send us messages?
Then again… Maybe so.
I first noticed the feathers as I left the office last Tuesday after discovering that I was spotting. I was in a panic, thinking that I was about to miscarry. I got to my car, and my parking space was covered with feathers.
I really didn’t think much of it, especially considering the state I was in at the time.
The next day, after not miscarrying and subsequently returning to work, I noticed more feathers. In the parking garage, the sidewalk, on my front porch.
I started to think about that saying… “When feathers appear, angels are near.”
It was then that I started to really think that maybe that spotting wasn’t just a fluke. Maybe the feathers were sent by an angel…
It’s only fitting that the day I started seeing the feathers was the day the doctor says my baby stopped growing.
My angel baby.
I’ll never hold that baby, but I feel a connection stronger than with anyone else I know. My angel baby sent me feathers as a sign of peace and happiness and hope for the future.
Like the bird tattooed on my shoulder, and like the precious happy moments of my childhood spent watching the birds flit about, the feathers were a sign that I should be at peace.
There is still hope, and there is happiness to come.
Dr. K was very kind and reassuring. There was almost no growth since our last appointment, and the yolk sac has disappeared. Everything about my body is perfectly healthy, and this seems to just be a chromosomal issue. It happens in 20% of pregnancies. I’m normal and healthy, but the baby just wasn’t.
He gave me options and told me to take my time. I can choose to miscarry naturally, or I have some medication that will help the process along.
One thing that helped to hear was that the medication does not require me to wait months before starting a new cycle. I will have time to grieve, and time to prepare myself for jumping back in with both feet.
As devastated as I feel right now, I know that it’s just not in me to stop trying.
I’m still stuck in a hard place; half-pregnant, carrying the shell of a life that left me a week ago.
A life that left feathers in its place.
I have grief and sadness and emptiness.
But I also have hope. And determination. And strength. And an amazing husband and support system.
And that’s a lot.
It’s enough for now.
It has to be.