1. Days are like dog years. Ben and I were talking the other night and I said "well yeah babe, it's only been two days since this all started," and he looked at me in shock and said, "that's it?!"It simultaneously feels real and surreal.
2. Everything is okay...until it's not. The depth of my grief frightens me. I am fine one minute, and sobbing the next. I know this is to be expected, and that it's probably going to get (much) worse before it gets better but I am exhausted.
3. We are together and separate. Ben and I are processing in our own ways and we talk to each other, but it's so...weird (for lack of a better word), to grieve so much individually and together. I am incredibly thankful for him.
4. Don't ask me about the future. I've only gotten this in nice roundabout ways, but we are so far from even thinking about thinking of the future. I've been warned people will have good intentions but will say things that probably hurt; I know enough people wanted this for us that even if it's an off-hand comment, it comes from a place of love so that doesn't bother me. But asking me what's next? I'm not responsible for my reaction.
5. If you have to go through a miscarriage, I wish everyone could have our doctors. The d&c went as well as can be expected, but everyone we met was incredibly compassionate, and it made it so much less horrible. The anesthesiologist made us laugh, and when we left our nurse gave us each a big hug. Good doctors make a world of difference.
We are so so thankful for the incredible community of family and friends that are surrounding us. We have people thinking of us, praying for us, feeding us, sending us cards and flowers, and checking in to see how we are doing. We can literally feel the love - thank you seems so ineffective, but know we mean it from the bottom of our hearts.