“There’s no heart beat, I’m sorry.”
What do you say to that, how do you respond to I’m sorry? When everything slows down and you look at your husband and see his face crumble? When you watch dreams he didn’t even realize he had die? You say, “It’s ok.” And it is, but it isn’t. You say, “We’ll be ok.” because you will, but you aren’t. If you are me you stroke a picture on a screen, gently whisper “Goodbye, baby.” and turn it around. You have to be strong. Because there is no heartbeat. Because you lost it.
Now there are plates full of half eaten food, doorbells and green flashing lights that lead to another “I’m sorry,” you don’t want to hear. There are tears in eyes and close hugs but all I want are deep sheets and for it to start. For it to end. Even though the pregnancy is over my job is not done, I have to be strong, have to be brave.
Sitting in my living room, in the same spot we didn’t hear the heartbeat I say aloud the worst fear I have. “Will it look like a baby?”