Sunday, July 27, 2014

I used to sometimes write things.

Like this. I wrote this back in June 2009 and sad, sad circumstances have caused me to think of it once again.

(Eventually I'll get back to posting NEW stupid crap no one cares about. Promise)

Words fail.

One of my dearest friends has joined the Club.

There is no guide to dealing with this Club. No initiation. You are simply, miserably, thrust into it.

She's had a miscarriage. She's joined the millions of other women in this world, myself included, who are suddenly, painfully, not pregnant anymore.

She and I talked and she said to me perhaps the saddest thing I've ever heard in my life,

"It was just my turn."

Her turn. To lose. To be lost.

It's so not fair. It's so blindingly not fair that it makes me ill.

Because why does it have to be her turn? Why, when she is good and kind and loving and really wants to have a baby? Why is her turn to feel that her body has failed her? Why does it have to be her husband's turn to watch his wife cry? When they did everything they were supposed to do. When she dutifully stopped drinking her morning coffee and took all the disgusting vitamins she was supposed to take. When every day she took walks and kept herself in just the right shape. When she stopped having wine at dinner, months before, just to prepare herself.

She has to lose.

Instead of joining the happy baby club, in which you get to discuss your vivid dreams and how much weight you get to gain and your weird pickle and Wendy's Frosty cravings, she instead joins the miserable little club that no one wants to talk about. The one where you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. And why did this happen. And will I ever be normal. And why God hates you.

Even the words are stupid and angry. Miscarriage. She didn't drop the baby. She didn't misplace it somewhere. It's right where it always was. Inside her heart, which is now broken because life is so damn unfair.

She's lost her baby. 

But it's not lost. It will never be.

There are no words of comfort. Everything you say to someone who has lost her baby is inadequate. Even if you've been there. Even if you know, in some small way, how she's feeling.

She, for her part, is optimistic. Positive. It's a blip in the road, and she'll have a healthy baby soon. I believe that, strongly. It's happened for so many of my friends. So, so many. It's miserable and terrible and horrible but you get through it. You plod on. You get another test a few months later and it's positive. A beautiful little plus sign. You get another and another and they all have beautiful little plus signs. You are cautious and optimistic and maybe a bit scared for a few months and then you have a beautiful, rounded belly with a beautiful little baby inside.

I know it happens. It happens for most. I know this.

It all works out. You don't drop the baby this time.

Still. You are forever part of the Club. You wear it like a scar on your heart.

It never goes away.

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