A post by a friend of this same daughter took me back to this crystallized moment: Driving through the winter rain to Kindergarten with my oldest daughter and her friend. The friend knew we were expecting a new baby but we had not seen her family over the Christmas holiday as we had gone to Maui. Due to many factors I lost the baby. Miscarried. In Maui.
They are belted in the back seat and we are making our way to the local school. The friend is told we “lost” our baby in Maui. Horrified, she literally screams, “Aren’t you going to try and find her?”. I can still feel the leather of the steering wheel and the feeling that I had. I had to pull over and wipe the tears and have a bit of recovery as I tried to find the words to explain to a 5 year old what losing a baby meant. I always wondered if my daughter and her little brother thought the same thing, that we had misplaced the baby and not looked for her. And what did they tell the Kindergarten class?
Until then I had not understood the trauma of miscarriage. It wasn’t until I attended a candlelight ceremony years and years later with people who had lost a child or miscarried that I was able to put it to rest. They understood the aching emptiness.