I wanted to hide away in bed until it had all passed, but I had to go on. Thanksgiving needed to be celebrated, family needed to be joined and the girls needed their mom to be their mom. And therein lies the rub.
This was a major turning point in my life. It didn't make sense to me, and it did not seem right. It is one of the reasons I gave up my former career path, went back to school, and became an infertility counsellor.
Why is it that, in a world where almost every aspect of motherhood is discussed and dissected, the incredibly common reality of miscarriage is still so hidden? Why is the pain that so many women experience intensified by the sense that their experience is shameful or should be kept secret?