As I thought and honored all of the women that I know who have lost babies, I wrote this last night. Some of the statements, sadly, apply to more than one woman that I know.

“I Remember When She Told Me”

I remember when she told me…. and I didn’t know what to say.

I remember when she told me, almost in passing…. and I whispered “me too.”

I remember when she told me, across the table at a restaurant… and I gave her the tightest hug as we walked out.

I remember when she told me…. when I was experiencing joy and I instantly was jarred by her pain.

I remember when she told us…. and we wrapped our arms around her to grieve together.

I remember when she told me…. and how she felt so alone, with no one to talk to.

I remember when she told me…. and I did a double-take, realizing that her baby had not come home.

I remember when she told me…. and how her experience was different than mine, but the same pain.

I remember when she told me…. and her experience was almost identical to mine, and I felt like I could ask questions.

I remember when she told me… and she told me to keep faith.

I remember when she told me…. with my own pain so intensely fresh, and we wept together.

I remember when I told… and they reached out to me. To ease my sorrow. To hold me in their thoughts. To hold me in their arms. To share in my loss.