I had a very early miscarriage. It’s a strange word, miscarriage. The only other context for the word that comes to mind is miscarriage of justice – like a well-intentioned accident. Which I suppose is appropriate. I’d thought I was having implantation bleeding, or maybe I just hoped. But then I had the mind numbing back pain, cramps and what follows and not even hope could convince me that it was anything else, except what it was.
A horrible, gut wrenching loss. And it is a loss. My baby who I will never meet or hear or cuddle. And now that he or she is no longer growing inside me, I feel the absence like a big black hole. I think it’s better and worse going through it already having had Riley. On the one hand it’s worse because it’s no longer some abstract concept. On the other hand, it’s hard not to smile with this one around:
And I was grateful when she came into our bed last night, threw her little arms around my neck and snuggled for a really long time.
I wish the physical pain would go on its’ merry way so that I could be alone with the emotional pain. Which sounds weird and counter-intuitive, even to me. But what I want is to stop being physically reminded of the loss every waking moment, so I can deal with the rest on my own terms.
And I will try to remind myself, that although from the outside it doesn’t seem like I’ve lost anything, it’s OK to be heart-broken.
My name is Zoey. 
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