Five months ago she giddily cornered me in the hallway at work to share her news. Elation. Joy. Promise.
She kept it a secret until the appropriate amount of weeks had passed. We whispered in my cubicle, hushed updates on how she was doing, her fatigue, her morning sickness, how to keep people from guessing (there were rumors). When the day came, she announced the news of her baby boy with pure delight and we all rejoiced with her. She read all the right books and did all the right things. Grandparents purchased gifts because they were too cute to pass up. She and her husband saved money and prepared for maternity leave.
They named him.
On Monday when she went to the doctor, they couldn’t find the heartbeat. The doctor said he seemed too small for how far along she was but just a few weeks earlier she’d had a perfect check up. Maybe it was just a technical glitch with the machine. He was probably okay. He had to be alright. Of course, everything was going to turn out fine.
The ultrasound technician wasn’t in the office until Wednesday. From Monday to Wednesday morning, they wondered and worried though there was nothing to do but wait. Wednesday came and with it the news. The baby did not make it.
I could barely bring myself to type that last sentence.
With loss there comes wordlessness. The inability to say anything that sounds right or helps in any way. I don’t know what to say except “I am sorry” which does no good. I don’t know what to do except be available to her. I don’t know how to feel anything but heartbroken for my friend and her husband and their baby. For the loss of the life they were planning. For the unfairness of it all.
I don’t know what to do.