“E., I need you to listen to me.”
E. nodded, looked into my eyes.
“You know how we told you that there was going to be a baby?”
E. nodded again.
“We were wrong. There isn’t going to be a baby anymore.”
E. thought for a moment. “You want Mummy to tell me why there isn’t going to be a baby anymore.”
I took a deep breath. “Sometimes it happens, E. Sometimes we think there’s going to be a baby, but there isn’t.”
I’m lying on the couch, under the blanket that my grandmother made for me before I went to university. It is the afternoon after it happened. Q. is making dinner that no one will want to eat.
E. comes trundling into the room.
“I want to yie down wif Mummy.”
He climbs up on the couch, curls up under the blanket, next to me.
“That makes me feel better,” I tell him. “Mummy is feeling very sick right now and very sad.”
E. thinks for a moment. “I will go and get a Kleenex so Mummy can wipe her tears.”
I called my parents.
I chickened out with my sisters and emailed them instead.
I couldn’t face four phone calls.
I couldn’t cope with Skype.
I told my birth club.
I told my beloved blog readers.
I quit my new birth club.
I told my infertility friends and my May mummy friends, the ones I met in prenatal yoga during my pregnancy with E.
I felt like too many people knew.
I felt like I had to keep writing it over and over again.
But most people in my life didn’t know.
Most people will have no idea my heart is breaking.
We were so close to being able to tell everyone.
But not close enough.
Thursday night I had a terrible dream.
I’ve had terrible dreams all through this pregnancy.
I dreamt that Q. and I were fighting because I didn’t want to be the one who told his mother over Skype.
Then I dreamt I went and had a really hot bath, which I’m not supposed to do until the bleeding stops (because now, now, there is bleeding. After the fact.)
When I woke up I knew that, just like the others, those were just bad dreams.
But then I remembered that some of it was real.
“It’s the untelling that’s the hardest part,” I wrote on my May 2011 birth club, “breaking everyone else’s hearts along with our own.”
“Oh Turia,” one of them replied, “Here you are worried about everyone else.”
But it’s when I have to tell everyone else that it has to be real again and not some terrible bad dream.