How to Love Her through a Miscarriage

By Ikenga Chronicles December 27, 2016

How to Love Her through a Miscarriage

It was a Saturday morning.

A little rainy if I remember right. I was out most of the night for the first of a three day training seminar. I awoke to the familiar sight of my wife’s head on her pillow, but instead of her usual peaceful repose, I was met with the telltale signs of pain. It was enough to jolt me into a full-bodied alertness I would later identify as a newly burgeoning instinct buried deep in my guts.


“They hurt pretty bad,” she said as I immediately started browsing all known cramp solutions. This is an old masculine cliche. It’s like my man brain has a trigger that takes over anytime my wife feels distress. It screams, “Fix! Take action! Do!” and effectively drowns out my heart’s gentle entreaties to be still.
Just be.

I doubt I’ll ever be rid of that. I hope as I get older, my man brain and my heart talk to each other more. On this morning, however, there was no conversation. There was only that old man brain cliche—demanding to fix pain that started as a steady rumble and sharpened into a stubborn stab that could no longer be placated by Advil.

Rewind about six weeks to a different Saturday morning. Once again, I’m jolted out of sleep, but this time, I was met with a bright smile and a positive pregnancy test. This face. This arresting joy is a memory I want to capture and bottle. If I could, I’d sell it or give it away. I’m pretty sure we would stop fighting wars or electing Trumps if I could just figure out how to share this face with the world.
Back to reality.

That joy has been replaced by a mourning we both know we’re about to endure. A mourning for which neither of our hearts are….


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