But that day, I couldn’t seem to get through my own grief to think about anyone but myself and the baby I had lost. Yes, I knew our almost-two-year-old, Cassie, needed her mommy. I wanted to stay there forever, giving in to my grief and letting my family and the rest of the world go on without me. That Father’s Day weekend, when it became obvious what was going on, I curled up into the fetal position, lay on our bed, and wept. We kept the miscarriage mostly to ourselves. As a result, only a handful of people knew it had even happened. Besides, I certainly didn’t feel like talking about it. There didn’t seem to be any sense in announcing it. We hadn’t told many people I was pregnant, thank goodness, so very few people had to be told of our loss. I miscarried two months into my second pregnancy, on June 20, 1998. An empty space where there wasn’t one before. The reality of a child lost, one we would never know. Then two months into the pregnancy, Sonja lost the baby, and our misty-edged dreams popped like soap bubbles.
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