I never envisioned spending the first day of Easter weekend in the ER, my body racked with flu-like symptoms brought on by a miscarriage in process.
But here I was.
My husband Ted and I sat in a small waiting room, surrounded not by our three young daughters, but by strangers. All with urgent aliments of their own.
Nothing felt especially good about this Friday. Although I suppose that first Good Friday didn’t seem that great at the time either. It too was one of loss.
Seven hours, an ultrasound, countless nurses, and a doctor later, I entered the operating room for a D&C. That night, we returned home. Physically weary and emotionally raw.
That was four years ago.
Each spring, as the earth wakes from its winter sleep and comes to life, I can’t help but reflect back on the little life we lost. To the grief that characterized the weekend. This year though, I find myself pausing on an aspect of that dark holiday I hadn’t thought about before.
The suffering Ted and I experienced together ultimately made our marriage stronger.
[Read the rest of the article at MORF.]