As the one year anniversary of the day we found out we were expecting our first child approaches, I can’t help but reflect upon my short pregnancy, miscarriage, and the painful summer that followed. Even as I sit here, five weeks away from my due date with the baby that was meant to be, the events of last year play over and over again in my mind.
On April 24, 2010, we were ecstatic to find out that after just 4 months of trying, I was pregnant. As soon as the blue cross appeared, I laughed out loud. I was giddy with joy. While we carried on like most first-time expectant parents—telling our family, discussing names, and dreaming of a future that was finally within reach—the truth is, I worried a lot during the next 8 weeks. I feared that we shared the news too soon. I used word "if" when talking about the rest of my pregnancy. My husband thought I was being morbid. Looking back, maybe I just knew.
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On June 15th, at 11 weeks pregnant, we found out that something had gone wrong for our tiny baby. He or she just wasn’t prepared for this journey with us.
Immediately following the confirmation of the devastating news, we let our families and friends know via text message. We didn’t speak of this decision, but it soon became clear that neither of us wanted to talk to anyone. Our phones didn’t ring, as we had let everyone know we would call when we were ready. Instinctively we wanted to be alone—but together—just the two of us. Later we discovered we were on the same page. My husband told me he didn’t want to see anyone and that he didn’t want anyone telling him how sorry they were. I agreed.
We remained this way for the rest of the evening and the entire next day. We grieved alone. By day two, we decided we needed to get out of the house. A trip to the beach was planned, something we had never done in our 4 years together. I had never even visited this particular Jersey shore town before. Despite everything that just happened, June 17th was the most beautiful day we have ever shared together.
My husband was was excited to show me around the boardwalk where he spent his summers as a kid. We laid on the beach and had a greasy lunch. Then we packed up our things and strolled along the busy boardwalk. We were happy, smiling, and together, we were healing with the help of some vitamin D.
Our relationship had never experienced anything like this, and it certainly isn’t something you can prepare for. Looking back, I guess I am a bit surprised at how much love, support, and positive energy we provided one another. Our relationship isn’t exactly famous for this kind of behavior. It could have gone down differently. There could have been anger and blame. I could have shut him out and went inward. Instead, throughout this ugly ordeal, we literally leaned on one another. And as a result, grew closer than ever before.
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While we appreciated all of the kind words, gestures, and reassuring hugs that followed, it was the love and strength of our marriage that got us through last summer. And as it came to a close, this love brought us another baby and a second chance at parenthood.
When you're going through something like a miscarriage, you despise hearing the seemingly unavoidable "it happened for a reason" commentary. In our case, I cannot deny the fact that it did.