My Wedding Dress Became The Death Dress

Nearly 30 years ago, I had a miscarriage. I was in Austria, living with a family as a nanny for a year. My then-husband thought it would be a fine idea to cease using birth control while we were there, for some unknown (to me) reason. I’d been off of “the pill” for about 6 months and was regaining my sanity, thank God. It had done a number on me.

I’d been there for nearly six months and was in my second trimester. I hadn’t gone to the doctor because I didn’t even know how to start that conversation with my boss, the woman we lived with. She was wonderful, but had nothing but easy pregnancies, like my mother had.

Elke had birthed 6 healthy babies and my mom had birthed 9. No issues with either. That’s all I had ever known. I’d never even imagined having a miscarriage. I’d never really even heard about them occurring.

My, I was young. And my, the things we DIDN’T talk about!

At 14 weeks, I lost the baby, in the middle of the night. I began hemorrhaging within a few minutes of passing the fetus. The day before, I’d been to the doctor (for the first time) and had an ultrasound. “Your baby is dead.”, the Austrian doctor proclaimed to me that morning.

I mean, couldn’t he have told me in German, “Ihr Baby ist gestorben” or “Wir koennen keinen Herzschlag finden.” Even “Ihr Baby ist tot.” is better in German than English…because German is my 2nd language, not my first.

…

All that being said, I had very little support in that experience. I had an ignorant and absent husband, a boss who had no idea what was going on, and a mother and family across the ocean who had no way of wrapping their heads around the realities of my loss and trauma.

I received units of blood and was in the hospital for 4 days, being monitored, crying, and eating (the Schnitzel wasn’t all bad;)).

I got home several months later and moved in with my parents and younger siblings, all to whom the pregnancy and miscarriage were just stories…they had no connection to them. I was alone and deeply grieving.

…

Decades later, I divorced my husband. And, being the woman in the relationship, I had the joy of getting rid of all of the STUFF in the house that needed to be gotten rid of. The wedding dress remained. But I had no desire to burn it. Toxic fumes were one of the many reasons. Satin isn’t a natural product of anything and I’d had enough toxicity for 12 lifetimes.

What would I do with this thing?

In my search for redemption during the most painful and traumatizing years of my life, I found a loophole that was helpful, even meaningful. I would donate my dress to the Emma and Evan Foundation. It would make “Angel Gowns” for someone else’s lost babies.

This was the answer. It was a lot of satin. I got married in a traditional 80’s gown, even if it was in the early 90’s. I’m pretty sure I bought six yards of satin for the thing as well as lace (which I beaded by hand). It was a labor of love by my roommate, who was using it for her final project for the term in her fashion design class. Still, I am grateful for her.

Maybe it was out of gratitude for her that I didn’t want to burn it?

I don’t know. But no matter, it would go to some good use; some beautiful use. It might be just a swab of balm to the heart of a grieving mother…a mother like me. It would be just one of the ways she could be held during this ridiculously painful time in her life.

I don’t know what that must feel like, but I bet it’s good. It might be as good as sucky gets, in the moment. But I’ll never know.

…

This was redemption for me — for one facet of my horrid marriage — for one moment of deep neglect and trauma. I could send the dress in the mail and let go of that pain and feel some relief.

I’ve never been one to hold grudges and have always wanted nothing more than to be happy and be with someone who was happy (or at least tried to be). This moment in time made me happy in the swirl of confusion that divorce slapped me with daily.

If anyone is interested in requesting a gown for your child or would like to donate your old wedding dress, please follow the link below. I’m grateful to organizations that can turn something painful (on both sides) into something meaningful and beautiful.

If you want to help support my writing (and a better world because there will be one more happy woman out there), feel free to visit:

ko-fi.com/christinasophia

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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From The Good Men Project on Medium

What Does Being in Love and Loving Someone Really Mean?

My 9-Year-Old Accidentally Explained Why His Mom Divorced Me

The One Thing Men Want More Than Sex

The Internal Struggle Men Battle in Silence

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