It was a Saturday morning.

A little rainy if I remember right. I was out most of the night for the first of a three day training seminar. I awoke to the familiar sight of my wife’s head on her pillow, but instead of her usual peaceful repose, I was met with the telltale signs of pain. It was enough to jolt me into a full-bodied alertness I would later identify as a newly burgeoning instinct buried deep in my guts.

Cramps.

“They hurt pretty bad,” she said as I immediately started browsing all known cramp solutions. This is an old masculine cliche. It’s like my man brain has a trigger that takes over anytime my wife feels distress. It screams, “Fix! Take action! Do!” and effectively drowns out my heart’s gentle entreaties to be still.
Just be.

I doubt I’ll ever be rid of that. I hope as I get older, my man brain and my heart talk to each other more. On this morning, however, there was no conversation. There was only that old man brain cliche—demanding to fix pain that started as a steady rumble and sharpened into a stubborn stab that could no longer be placated by Advil.

Rewind about six weeks to a different Saturday morning. Once again, I’m jolted out of sleep, but this time, I was met with a bright smile and a positive pregnancy test. This face. This arresting joy is a memory I want to capture and bottle. If I could, I’d sell it or give it away. I’m pretty sure we would stop fighting wars or electing Trumps if I could just figure out how to share this face with the world.
Back to reality.

That joy has been replaced by a mourning we both know we’re about to endure. A mourning for which neither of our hearts are….

Credit: http://ikengachronicles.com/how-to-love-her-through-a-miscarriage/

I can relate to your article because this August, my wife went through the same horrid experience you've painted here. My wife and I have a beautiful bi-racial daughter who was born through caesarian section in 2014 because she was too big to be born through the normal channel. In June, my wife conceived, we were both overjoyed and looking forward to having our second child. Little did we know our joy would be drastically erased in two month's time; and we'd both be filled with indescribable sadness - one that was palpable! A few days before my wife suffered her miscarriage, she complained of having a slight sharp pain in her stomach. Since it wasn't her first pregnancy, neither of us thought anything was amiss. Her mom gave her some pain relieving pills for pregnant women - the same pills she took when she was pregnant with our first child. A few days later in the evening, my wife noticed a few blood spottings on her underwear. I freaked out when she told me, and immediately googled the causes of blood spottings during the first trimester of pregnancy. The result heightened my fear. I told my wife my findings and told her we needed go to the hospital. While we were getting ready to head to the hospital, the cramps returned - but this time the pains were unbearable. I packed an overnight bag, called a Uber and notified our doctor of the situation. At the hospital, her condition was assessed and an immediate induced abortion was suggested. At that time she could barely walk. She was in an agonising pain. And streaks of blood could be seen coming from under her. The sight of her bearing all the physical pains alone broke my heart. Right there I wished I could carry her pains. She had the abortion with me sitting in the theatre but separated from the procedure only by a thin curtain. Since my wife's miscarriage, I've learned to love, respect and treasure her more. Women deserve to be respected for a lot of reasons especially for the pains they go through during childbirth, and miscarriage - when it happens.