Your Pregnancy

My darling wife

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THAT DAY, when you surprised me with a pair of baby shoes on the seat of my car, I was so incredibly happy that I wanted to shout it from the rooftop, so I called just about everyone I know to share the big news. I couldn’t keep quiet. I immediatel­y wanted to go out and buy a rugby ball for our little guy, but then my heart went all soft when I thought that it might be a little girl. And then the terrible news came. You kept saying something wasn’t right, but I refused to believe it until the gynaecolog­ist showed us that there was no longer any life. When you burst into tears, I had to bite my lip not to cry with you. But I wanted to be strong for you. You were the one who carried our baby inside you. You were the one who battled with morning sickness, who had to watch as your taut tummy took on a new shape. I knew that you’d feel this loss intensely – if I was sad, how much more wouldn’t you be? So I folded you in my arms and took you home. My eyes were dry, but I was broken up inside. I didn’t know how to look people in the eye the next day. I didn’t know how to tell all those people I shared our joyous news with that my dreams were all in vain. Our baby is dead. I wasn’t sure they’d understand. What was it that I lost? I wasn’t the one who carried him inside of me. To be honest, I also felt neglected sometimes. Everyone always asked me how you were doing, when I felt like I also deserved their sympathy. I found it extremely hard to watch you hurting. I wish I could carry the pain for you. This was not a hurt that I could make better for you. It also felt like I failed to protect you and our baby. And I felt guilty for not experienci­ng it as intensely as you. I also sometimes became annoyed with your crying. I wanted you to move on and look forward again. Your emotional outbursts got the better of me sometimes; and if I wanted to escape them by leaving the room or simply withdrawin­g into myself, I felt guilty. But I was frustrated because I knew nothing that I said or did could change things. And sometimes I felt like you were excluding me; it’s as if you stood alone with your sadness, with me looking in. Then I yearned for you to just become my wife again. I know your loss is immense, and we will never forget our baby. But I look forward to the day when we can dream again, about a new life for whom I can buy that rugby ball – or a pink bear. Love, your husband

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