The second chance came about just as soon as would normally be expected. Taking a few extra precautions this time, we were encouraged to have some early blood work and ultrasounds done. Normal and normal. So far, so good.

It’s an exciting beginning just as closure settles in on the baby that did not grow. The disappointment of losing the first pregnancy is balanced a bit by its early ending; I can’t imagine how worse the pain would be after a whole trimester or two. Or three. To further alleviate our fear, statistics betray a much higher rate of miscarriage than is typically spoken about. They’re certainly not uncommon. Yet with each appointment comes the same fear: will it happen again? Statistically, the odds are still in our favor, but it’s hard to look beyond the statistic that 100% of our previous pregnancies failed.

Talking about miscarriage more would be good. The trauma that accompanies it would be better shared among close family and friends. I imagine it’s typically shared among a mom, maybe a dad, and a few folks in white coats. I’d like to share it outside that circle, too, but it falls into this in-between-time in which we haven’t shared with anyone that we’re planning to grow a baby at all.

There should also exist the possibility of public grieving and closure. The Christian church has not been particularly sensitive to the needs of parents experiencing miscarriage and stillbirths. Pastor Janet Peterman’s writing is well worth attention if you’re interested in how the church could improve this.

For some couples the tragedy is their first serious life crisis, their first grief experience, or the first time they have felt isolated from each other.

It may not be the first, but it is certainly distinct from any other type of tragedy I’ve personally experienced.

It’s hard to interpret my own reactions to a failed pregnancy because I have nothing with which to compare the experience. I’m not sure what I’m grieving most. A life? My own hopes? My partner’s pain?

Obviously, the experience has been physically and emotionally painful for her. Feelings of inadequacy and failure and guilt and sorrow are surely normal and expected – even if they are irrational.

Statistically, there is nothing to be worried about.

Not yet. In her words, though, “it still sucks.”

My own shadowy pain is harder to pinpoint, equally irrational, but certainly less acute than hers.

How will the experience affect our fears and attitudes next time? It can’t help, right? It was comforting to hear the doctor say the cause was a typical chromosomal failure. It was nothing we did or didn’t do. The thing just couldn’t happen. Second-guessing is innevitable in the process but it doesn’t have to be sanctioned by your doctor, and ours has ridden enough rodeos to know.

This, on the other hand, is my first, and I’m thankful for all the help I can get.