Heartbreak

Telling my mother about the miscarriage was brutally heartbreaking.  I couldn't bear to hear the obvious disappointment in her voice, and had to hang up the phone.  She was so looking forward to having another grandchild, and I was so looking forward to giving her one.  The worst part of our conversation was when the volume of her voice disappeared into a near-whisper.  I could barely hear her, yet I couldn't miss the sadness and confusion in everything she said.  

It was probably more devastating than the actual miscarriage itself, although I hesitate describing it in that way.  I never thought it would be so difficult telling her...everyone else we told took the news with such genuine sadness, and I didn't so much as blink an eye.  One of my friends even broke into tears over the phone and I didn't so much as feel a twinge in my gut.

But over a five minute phone call with my mother, I finally broke down in tears and cried.  It was one of the worst, stomach-churning feelings I've ever had the misery of experiencing.  

But the reverse of the situation would have meant not telling her about the pregnancy at all, or until the second trimester which never came.  People warned me about telling people, saying doom and gloom comments about how miscarriages happened all the time and that I would be wise to wait until it was "safe" to let everyone know.  

My mother was the first person I called to tell about the pregnancy, and the response she gave me was so joyful.   It was as if our complicated relationship immediately transformed into something complete at that very moment.  That's the phone call I will remember for the rest of my life, not the one that just made me sob for an hour.

For that reason alone, I wouldn't change a thing.