Trigger warning: miscarriage
Everything happens for a reason. Oh, how many times I heard this phrase after my miscarriage. Oh, how many times I still hear it today. It’s an expression said with the best of intentions but wrought with the most complicated of emotions. In the wake of my loss, I bristled every time a well-meaning family member or friend uttered the words. The platitude, almost always said with a sad smile and kind eyes, filled me with a fiery rage that was grossly inappropriate to express in polite society. Instead of screaming, I’d smile back and nod graciously, thanking them for their sympathy even though I didn’t ask for it and certainly didn’t want it.
What I wanted was my baby back. I didn’t want offers of love and light. I burned with a thorny mixture of anger and shame and guilt with every overly-emojied text message that came through, each ensuring I had a shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to, something better coming.
