In December, I had a miscarriage.
It happened during finals week. Well, probably. I'm still not sure when exactly it happened, which was why it was such a shock--there wasn't any warning. My body acted like the pregnancy was going along as it should. But when we went to the doctor for an ultrasound, he told us the worst possible news. There was no baby. It had somehow stopped growing.
I couldn't believe it. It seemed unreal. How could the baby that we had already named and already loved just be gone? Why would God give us the green light to have a baby and then let it die? Had it ever even been alive, anyway? Was it ever a person, or just a clump of cells that never grew properly?
So instead of sharing the exciting news with our families as we had planned, we were left with nothing. The holiday passed in a daze, and we returned to our empty, lonely apartment, not understanding why life had been so cruel, or how we were supposed to survive the next few weeks. We had to pick up the broken pieces of our hopes and dreams and simply press forward, fervently clinging to the hope that things would be okay, someday.
I don't feel as sad about it as I used to. It's hard to be surrounded by babies and pregnant women in Provo, but I still like babies so it's not so bad. I know I'll get to be a mother someday, whether it's through having my own children or adoption. But I think a small part of me will always miss the baby that I never got to have, and wonder if it was ever really a person, and if I'll ever get to meet him.