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too good to be true.

too good to be true.

Oh, did I have a story to tell you.

It was a good one.

You know, the kind you write home about. The story you tell your friends and then your friends tell their friends. The one that proves that dark clouds do have a silver lining and that something beautiful can come from all that rubble and dust. Ah, a good story indeed.

At least, I DID and it WAS.

But life changes quickly and doesn’t ask our permission.

On Friday, as Oscar, Greg and I lay on our couch, wrapped in blankets and watching Harry Potter, I had a miscarriage.

As simple as that.

It was over.

Bleeding, cramping and stunned, my life had changed once again and I had no say.

I had hoped this was going to be an amazing story to share. After the death of my father, an accidental, natural pregnancy seemed like everything that my family needed. It was as if my father was still looking out for us, in whatever dimension he was watching us from.

It all happened so perfectly.

Two weeks ago, I bought a pregnancy test. Not because I thought I was pregnant but because, as many of you know, I have 4 nice embryos frozen in a lab and waiting to test their strength and durability. I have a few tests that I need to have done prior to the embryo transfer and I was aware, before scheduling the tests, that the nurse would ask when my last period was. Upon answering the question, I would tell her October 4 and she would follow up with the obvious question- are you pregnant? Being that this was November 12, my cycle was certainly suggesting I was late but since having Ophelia, nothing has been on schedule. So I bought the test and it came back, most shockingly, as pregnant. My jaw dropped and hit the floor.

At this point in my life, I would have assumed this was damn near impossible. Two IVFs and 5 years of trying to conceive can leave you feeling this way. I called Greg at work. There would be no clever Pinterest way of telling him. Nope. This would be surprise enough. We laughed a nervous laugh at the possibility and we tried to let it sink in. As we talked on the phone, I googled “due date calendar” and typed in the information needed. Deep inhale and even deeper exhale. The date given was July 11, my dad’s birthday. Suddenly, nothing felt accidental and nothing felt like a coincidence.

We decided to wait to tell our family. We figured allowing two weeks for the news to soak into our bones and playing scenarios of having a third child running around this little house of ours was adequate enough time. We would tell them on Thanksgiving via the World Wide Web and Facetime. As painful as celebrating the first official holiday without my dad was going to be, this seemed like a pleasant little surprise that would ease the pain just a bit.

But within a day it would all be over, just like that.

I remember the grief of losing our baby at 20 weeks. It was devastating. I never imagined the pain of losing a baby at 6 weeks. As brief as the time is, you still cannot help but begin to imagine your life differently. Greg and I laughed at how ridiculously busy our already crazy lives would be and smiled at the thought of Ophelia as a big sister and Oscar as the even bigger brother. I cannot help but think of all the women who go through this in their first trimester, having never shared the news because they were holding their breath until their 12-week when they could let everyone know they were in the clear and were pregnant. Do they walk around silent, never talking about this pain? A part of me has felt dread these past few days, having to put on that smile knowing damn well life felt awful.

Needless to say,I am a giant bag of emotions. I am so very sad. I am so very angry. I feel guilty that I had a bad feeling to begin with, like this was all too good to be true. It was as if I as waiting for the other shoe to drop. Did I will this to happen? I feel terrible that I feel terrible because I know I have two beautiful children and there are so many women struggling to conceive. Shouldn’t I just be grateful? I want to know where the hell my dad is. Isn’t he suppose to be pulling some strings for me somewhere, somehow? I feel his presence constantly and yet it feels like he has disappeared. This cannot be happening. Why am I angry with him? WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSE TO LEARN FROM THIS?


I know.

I know.