Mid-week I receive a call from Adrian as I am driving to my class. “Hi,” I answer leery why she calls at a time she knows I am headed to class for the day.
“Can you talk for a couple of minutes?” she asks instead of a greeting. When I let her know I have ten minutes before class begins she continues. “Bethany lost the baby early this morning. We are just leaving the hospital to get her settled back at home.”
Bile rises up my throat as my stomach burns. I have no words for this news. My heart aches for my dear friend.
“I know.” Adrian assures me—she understands my current inability to process this horrible news. “Call me this afternoon. I will give you more details and let you know how she is doing at home. I’m sorry I dropped this on you before class, but I couldn’t slip away earlier at the hospital and couldn’t wait until three this afternoon to tell you. I didn’t want someone to text you about it, and you not know what they were referring to.”
“Thank you.” My voice is hoarse,
“Try to focus during class. I realize it will be hard, but there is nothing anyone can do but pray for Bethany and Troy.” Adrian’s attempts do nothing to comfort me as we disconnect.
Walking into the classroom, I turn on the voice recorder app in my phone to keep track of items covered today. When I walk out hours later, I can’t recall a thing the professor covered. I’m glad I thought to use the recorder—my mind was on Bethany, how much she longed for a family, the miscarriage, and Troy. Even now as I unlock my car I fight tears. I crave Alma’s help processing Bethany’s tragedy.
When I arrive home, Alma attempts to comfort me as she shares a wealth of information. She admits she had two miscarriages—one before her oldest child was born and one before her second child. She explains that is how she met Dr. Anderson the first time. Of course, he was much younger back then than last March when he delivered Liberty for me. Alma shares both of her experiences in great detail.
After dinner, with tissues in hand for my leaking eyes, I continue my online research. I visit health sites covering the clinical side of miscarriages and recovery. I find several sites focused on successfully conceiving that explain the causes and likelihood of miscarriages. Then they positively paint the months following a miscarriage and steps toward conceiving again.
Having struggled with my own bouts of depression, I understand the loneliness, despair, and the feeling of being lost lying ahead of Bethany and Troy. Although I will continue to hope the couple successfully mourns, heals, and tries again—I know they will struggle. It’s hard to accept help and open up to others when one falls into the dark pit. It’s a journey comparable to climbing up Mt. Everest to find your way back out.
I startle when Alma slaps my laptop closed. I look up through my wet lashes at her expressionless face.
“That’s enough. There are too many horror stories on the web and no amount of research will help Bethany.” She forces a smile. “Be there when she calls. Be the daily phone call that makes her day. Listen when she needs an ear. That’s all you can do for her.” Alma wraps her arms around me from behind while I remain seated. I absorb her words and her warmth.
Liberty doesn’t enjoy floor time this evening. I keep my daughter on my lap in my arms. I’ve always believed her to be my little miracle—now I better understand the blessing I have with my healthy daughter.
I memorize once more every little finger, toe, and dimple. I marvel at her dark curly hair like Hamilton’s. I take in the changes of the four months since I first held her in my arms at the hospital.
With Liberty tucked in for the night, I turn in early. I continue to struggle. Athens feels like it’s on the other side of the planet from me. Three hours is too far to drive with my schedule to spend some time with Bethany. I feel the deep need to be with her, to help her, and to hug her tightly as she cries. My friend is hurting—my phone calls don’t seem enough. Bethany and Troy’s large families and their Athens friends will surround them. I have no doubt she will be well taken care of—I wish I could be there, too.
The next day, Bethany calls me at 5:00 p.m. I excuse myself to my room silently pointing to ask Alma to watch Libby while she grabs the toys on her blanket. I say a quick prayer to be strong enough to carry on a conversation with Bethany without too much crying. She needs me to listen and comfort her, not to cry like a baby.
“Hey honey.”
“Madison,” Bethany’s quivering voice weakly whispers. “Is this a good time?”
I assure her I am here anytime she wants to call and chat. I ask how she is today because I know how she is doing. My friend will not be good for quite a while. She shares the entire heartbreaking story. She woke up around 2:00 a.m. spotting on her sheets. Having read that can sometimes happen she wasn’t worried until she went to the restroom where cramping and a gush of bright red blood occurred. She screamed to wake up Troy and they hurried to the emergency room. She claims Troy remained calm and tried to calm her as well. It seems he was strong in this situation just as my friend needed.
As she shares the rest of the story, my heart breaks for her all over again.
Silently I think maybe it’s a good thing I’ve kept my secret. It might be hard for Bethany to talk to me if she knew I am already a mother she desires to be. With her fluctuating hormones and recent loss, I might more like an enemy than a friend. I focus on Bethany once again.
“Adrian spent the morning with me, today then Salem came for the afternoon. She left minutes ago as Troy should be home anytime now.” Bethany’s words cause red flags to pop up.
“Did he go to work today?” It’s a stupid question—she just alluded to him being gone all day. I cannot believe he didn’t stay home at least one day with her. She wanted a baby and to start their family—it’s all she could talk about. She needs him today. They lost a baby, both of them need to grieve and comfort each other. “Bethany, if you need him to stay with you, you may have to tell him. I’m sure he will stay if he knows you need him.”
“He spent yesterday afternoon and evening with me. Once he tucked me into bed, he slept on the sofa. I didn’t even hear him get ready this morning before he left.” A tearful hiccup escapes. Bethany attempts to gather herself to continue. “I’m sure he thought I would just sleep all day today.”
“Did you want him to stay with you today?” My voice is gruffer than it should be. Bethany needs my support not my anger.
“Yeah, I think so. I mean it never occurred to me he might not be there when I woke up this morning. He did text me to tell me he arranged for Adrian to visit this morning.”
“Bethany, promise me you will talk to him about this tonight. Just mention how sad you were that you didn’t see him when you woke up. Tell him you missed him today. Honey, he’s a guy—you have to spell it out for him. Okay?”
“Yeah.” She pauses to blow her nose.
“So how are you physically? Any pain?”
“I’m just tired and still spotting a tiny bit.” Bethany sighs deeply. “Now I have to wait six weeks to have a period and maybe a month or two after that before we may be able try again.” Her sobs grow louder in my ear. I allow her several minutes to let it all out.
“Honey, you have to allow your body time to repair itself. I’m sure your doctor wants to make sure everything is okay before you get pregnant again. I know you want a baby right now, but even with waiting you could have a baby by this time next year.” I hope my words provide comfort.
“When I got home from class yesterday, I shared your news with Alma. Honey, she had two miscarriages and has three healthy children. Taylor was born within a year of her first miscarriage. She wanted me to let you know she is here if you ever want to talk to her about it. She’s helped me with so much already, so talking to her might be a good thing when you are ready. I’ll text you her number later tonight, okay?”
I hope Bethany reaches out. Hearing from others might renew her hope of a family in the future, while also helping her cope with this painful loss.
“Troy’s home.”
“Bethany,” I call, wanting to remind her one more time. “Please talk to Troy tonight. Tell him what you want, what you need from him, and how you feel. He’s hurting, too. He may try to keep it all inside to protect you and that won’t be a good thing. You need each other right now.”
“I promise,” her quiet voice answers. She quickly lets me go before Troy enters the house.
I worry for my friend. She’s hurting, and Troy is avoiding her. Although she has a large family, lots of close friends, and is active in her church, I fear she may need a different kind of help in the upcoming months. I set a reminder in my calendar app every afternoon at four to check on Bethany. I’m aware there is only so much I can do from here, so I need to do what I can even if it’s only a phone call to let her know I care.
Returning to the living room, I spot Alma holding on to Libby’s hands as she toddles across the floor. Libby jabbers excitedly the entire way. When they turn my daughter’s eyes and smile lighten my mood.
“Come here.” I make ‘gimme-gimme’ gestures. “Come to mama. You can do it. Come on Libby.” With Alma’s support she tiptoes toward me.
Less than a step away, I scoop up my daughter placing a raspberry on her neck. Giggles erupt from my tiny human. I squeeze her tight against my chest needing her to comfort my worries for Bethany. Alma pats my shoulder as she heads to the kitchen for drinks.