I woke up today, ready for good news. Ready to embark on a new and unknown path. Ready for excitement and hope. I woke up today to find myself unprepared to deal with the news. The news that came too unexpected and harsh. Seven hours since I found out, but here I am.

Still, balling my eyes out, dry heaving and body aching. My head pounding with each sob. My heart so torn. So beyond repair. I don’t know how to better explain myself. All I know is that I can’t make it though this. I don’t know how to cope. I have never before been so hurt and broken.

Never in all my years would I of thought that I would experience the lost of a child. An unborn son or daughter. A miniature version of myself. Someone to teach and nurture. Someone to love and be loved by. A little rocker who likes to sing or maybe they would be just the opposite of me. Maybe they would like line dancing to a country tune and building sand castles on the beach. I hate the beach. I hate more the way my stomach is in my throat. I hate today. I hate knowing that it’s over. My vision of my life I had grown to like. Me, Mike, and our child.

The shock of first seeing that pregnancy test. The result showing those two lines. The fear of seeing the second set on the next test. The second test I took just to be sure, and there it was, two pink lines. Pregnant. The rush of hysterics took over and I panicked. I freaked and called Mike. His phone was off. It was never off, but it was off that day.

Three weeks ago it’s been now. He called me later that day, at lunch. It was eleven thirty and I told him I was pregnant. I held back my tears and I waited for his reaction. I was unprepared for his round of ‘oh my God’s’ and finally his words of joy.

“That’s good,” he told me, “I love you so much.” And with that everything was okay. He was happy. Shocked, but happy. As I.

Today, I call him and he answers on the first ring. “How did it go?“ he ask me, excitement of finding out how far along I am leaking from his voice. Today, I can’t hold back my tears and he doesn’t understand my words. A miscarriage is what they say. Seven weeks and two days but there is no fetal pole. No heart beat.

“Not vital,” the doctor said to me, “doesn’t mean that next time won’t be successful.” Next time. What a thought, I don’t even know how to get through today and she is talking about next time.

“I’m so sorry, Chester,” he says to me. He doesn’t know what to say after that. I hear his heavy breathing over the line, his hesitation of the words he wants to say, but can‘t find the courage.

He comes home early from work, finding me on the couch. He picks me up in his arms and tries to comfort. Only his words force out more tears. Tears that I didn’t know I could still form. Seven hours and I am still crying. Still unable to cope. He doesn’t know how to heal me and neither do I. I had my heart set on this and now it's over. I hate today. I’ll hate tomorrow even more.

>>>>>>

A/N: Forgive mistakes and grammar. I had a really bad day.

A miscarriage.