Oh, sweet friend. I don’t know what to say. I’m in the middle of a loud restaurant, picking up dropped trains and cursing establishments that can’t spring for Crayola for the rugrats, and I get your text.
You had another miscarriage — your second one in a few short months. And suddenly, it’s like the room is silent. I’m instantly flooded with an array of emotions I’ve come to know all too well, that for me, were first felt in the summer of 2012. And I’m broken for you, in every sense of the word.
I won’t say I’m so sorry or that everything happens for a reason, or try to pick up your own brokenness by telling you I have a friend who suffered four miscarriages, and today, she has two healthy babies she snuggles up to each night.
I won’t ask how far along you were because there is no answer to that question that gives me the right to decide that number should make things better or worse.
I promise not to mention that you already have kids and that they should provide some comfort and peace during this time.
And then again, I don’t know if I can promise any of those things — because I’m human. And I might say one of them or all of them because they’re natural reactions, and they come from a good place. And while they won’t help at all, I know you won’t fault me for it. Because having suffered a miscarriage before, I didn’t and wouldn’t fault a friend who said those things to me.
But perhaps what I should say, if I can gather myself and clear my head before responding to you, is this, my sweet friend: I love you. And this isn’t fair. And I love you. Beyond that, you should know that any feeling you‘re experiencing is normal, understandable, and warranted. And help is available if you can’t handle these feelings on your own. And there is no shame in seeking that help. And I’ll go with you.
And regardless of whether you are able to handle this nightmare on your own and with the support of those closest to you, or whether you take some extra support to weather this storm, I will love you even more fiercely for having known you survived this struggle. Because the mental, physical, and emotional toll miscarriages take on a woman who yearns to carry a baby inside her for the first time, or for the fifth time, is nothing I would wish on my worst enemy.
I know you‘re broken. But I also know I, and hundreds of others, love you. So let that love on in, and let’s heal together. Because even five years later, it can suddenly feel like a resurfaced wound that needs a new bandage for a short period of time. So let’s heal together, dear friend. And know I love you.