At this point, I can count on one hand the number of people who know this story. But it’s time to talk about it.

I had a miscarriage in January.

Now, before we get too far ahead- No, we weren’t trying. Are you kidding me? We let that ship sail many years ago. We tried for a long time before deciding on adoption, and I came to an inner peace about this ages ago.

When my P.A. gave me the news I felt my stomach lurch. “No!” I actually shouted. “What?? How? Are you sure? I mean, no, this is not even possible.”

“I think you know how…” she gave me a knowing humored look, a raised eyebrow. I tightened all my muscles and breathed deeply. “Yes, yes, I just meant for me, I thought it was never possible….” I lost my words.

My head was spinning, a thousand thoughts that I could hardly sort out. Good grief, I am 42 years old, is this real? Why couldn’t this have happened 15 years ago when I wanted it so desperately? I’m too old to have a newborn!

And worst of all: I am not excited to start over. Diapers and all-nighters and bottles and potty training again! Selfish thoughts, and then the guilt for thinking such things.

Wayne and I went together to several Ob/gyn appointments. I had just started to wrap my mind around the baby idea, to think more positively, when the doctor looked at my latest ultrasound and bloodwork and told us to expect the worst.

She was right. The very next day I miscarried. I’ll spare you the unpleasant physical details, but suffice it to say, the physical piece of this only exacerbates the mental and emotional anguish.

How could this life lost, a life I’d never seen or known, bring me such heartbreak?

I cried until I thought I would choke from my own sobs. I did not know how to process this. So I turned to the Psalms, as I did for years when dealing with my epilepsy. And I cried and prayed and let myself feel all the frenzied emotions. I phoned a friend who had been through the same, and her understanding was a balm to my wounded spirit.

It’s really quite common; 10 to 15 percent of pregnancies end in miscarriage. One out of every 10 babies conceived does not ever see this world! But we don’t talk about it. Why? Is it too awkward, too messy, too painful, too private? Too much of what?  I’ll tell you what there’s not enough of: Understanding. Comprehension. Compassion. Ways to acknowledge the loss of what we never held.

For me, I needed a tangible way to remember. So I have planted the forget-me-nots you see here, because I won’t ever forget. They are just starting to rear their little seeded heads, bringing such hope for new life.

And I rest not in any reasonable explanation…I won’t have that in this life, and that’s okay. I do believe in a merciful God, and that my baby is resting in His arms.  And that is enough for now.