FictionAddiction.NET

So we didn't get to tell anyone our news. But we didn't have to un-tell our news to many people either.

About a month after my miscarriage, I started taking my son to a church playgroup. There are four people in this playgroup.

Two of them are pregnant. One is due five days after I was supposed to be having my own baby.

I never planned on telling them my secret. This was my own.

So I've been sitting there week after week listening to the two women complaining about all things pregnancy -- the weight gain, lack of sleep, discomfort. It hurts. Really hurts.

But I don't go to playgroup for me. I go for my son.

Two weeks ago, the other member of our group who's not pregnant began sharing her story about losing her baby at 16 weeks. I tried to keep it together so I wouldn't share my own pain.

My secret. My secret. Don't tell them.

I tried not to show my emotions. It was too much, though.

I burst into tears right in front of them.

The only thing I could do was tell them my secret. They expressed their sympathies, of course.

I felt guilty about sharing my secret. This was my private joy of pregnancy and private tragedy of losing him/her.

Imagine my surprise when I received an email yesterday from one of the pregnant women in the group asking me to co-host a baby shower for the woman due five days after I was. A crushing blow. All over again.

How could she ask me this? How could she think I would want to plan a baby shower? How would I be able to sit there and ooh and ahh over tiny clothes and baby rattles?

My heart is broken. And it continues to break into more and more pieces.

It's broken over the miscarriage. It's broken over the child we were supposed to be welcoming in just a few months. It's broken over the insensitive people who seem oblivious to your personal pain.

How can your brain not pause to wonder if maybe you shouldn't ask a woman who's just had a miscarriage to plan a baby shower? People never cease to amaze me. And not in a good way.