(artwork from MaryAnneRadmacher.com)
I got an awful phone call the other morning. One of those calls that you wish was just a figment of your imagination. But it isn’t.
Just one day prior, a very close friend of mine who I absolutely adore and who I think is a prime candidate for Mother of the Year on many occasions had called, blissfully giddy … she was pregnant. The kind of friends who tell each other everything, she shared that although she was just 5 weeks along and this wasn’t exactly planned, she was elated. Following a little razzing from me for her ability to get knocked up, we did some normal catching up. We laughed. We chatted. Had you been a fly on the wall, you could see that we were both beaming.
…I picked up the phone to hear sobbing. My friend, the same blissfully bubbling woman I had talked with the day prior, caught her breath to utter the words “I woke up this morning. I was bleeding”. I know that I immediately said something. I’m not sure what it was because it likely made no sense. A knee-jerk reaction to this terrible emptiness she had just shared with me. We went through all the scenarios … how it could be okay. I swallowed my tears to not seem like I was incapable of being her strong sounding board. I tried to limit my condolences. It wasn’t final yet and we wouldn’t make it so.
I can’t imagine what the rest of the day had been like for her. She awaited the call on her bloodwork and would know more soon. A mix of optimism and realism likely filled her mind. And then, the call came. And the news wasn’t the kind she wanted to hear.
I felt horrible guilt as I hugged my friend yesterday. My pregnant belly pressed up against her now empty belly, which I can only believe felt emptier than it ever has. I still didn’t know what to say. What words could possibly help feel the void. She told me how she couldn’t believe how attached she’d already grown. How, though unexpected, it became so quickly a part of the story that would be her life. And I understood. Being over 6 months pregnant myself, I fear that those who are mourning loss, feel like I can’t relate. And I suppose I can’t fully. But I do know what it is to want to grow a life inside of me. To then have that start and almost instantly believe in miracles.
I know we’ve been lucky so far. I know I probably take that for granted and that it doesn’t mean I will never encounter such loss. Miscarriage does not discriminate. It often has no rhyme or reason and it leaves a hole for a lifetime in those who have to endure the reality. I often feel useless upon hearing news of a loss of a child {and sadly, I’ve heard it far too many times} but I’ve come to believe that food {lots of really bad junky foods}, conversation and a cleansing cry are a good start.
It’s amazing how one thing can bring so much joy and then one day later, so much pain. I just hope, for this friend and for others, that the joy will soon return. And that a baby will soon be in her arms.
