Not-So-Tiny Tragedy

All the associated magazines and freebies and bills and other accoutrements have been tucked away into a corner, as if the “out of sight, out of mind” methodology will work on this.

Not like I’m not reminded by every commercial, every slip of the tongue, every time one of my pregnant co-workers walks by. Not like I don’t zone out and think about it, instead of successfully getting back into the daily grind.

The logical part of my mind, the part that’s usually in control of how I live my life and how I present myself to others, says that grief is stupid. It’s more useless than even regret, because at least, with regret, you have the opportunity to learn something and make changes in the future. Grief… it’s like constantly reminding yourself that this situation sucks, and that there’s nothing to be done.

The emotive part of my mind has been held in check for far too long — years, in fact — and threatens to take off with the rest of me.

I feel alone. No, not alone, because Aaron’s feeling quite the same way I am, although he’s trying to be strong for me. I feel… empty. I’m alone in my own skin again, and I’m not sure how to react to that, especially after having just gotten used to being someone’s… home?

I tell myself, at least it wasn’t really self-aware yet. Or even conscious. Not yet able to hear, or see, or feel. Still, it doesn’t help. To see it grow from a barely discernable blob with a heartbeat to a small human being with wriggling arms and legs — then to see it lying horrifically still and lifeless, displayed on a monochrome monitor in a darkened room, as the poor ultrasound technician tried every possible way to find a heartbeat…

This is probably the single most gut-wrenching experience I’ve ever been through. Maybe that’s a testament to how lucky I’ve been in the past 30 years.

I’ll miss you.

2 thoughts on Not-So-Tiny Tragedy

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  1. I once read a long article about someone trying to get pregnant, and after a very long struggle with fertility they were pregnant for only a very short time. 11 days? But their description of it was almost verbatim like yours, above. The constant reminders, the vague emptiness.

  2. If it helps…this is exactly like how Kathy felt. Verbatim. Nothing I could say or do helped. So I just shut up, which may have been the wrong thing to do.