The night I found out I was frustrated,
in alot of physical pain and this wasn't the kind that was bearable.
Before it had been dealable,
since I knew it was for the purpose of bringing life into the world.

My four year old little boy, Josh, came in the room.
And we talked about the baby dying.
We talked about the word, "miscarriage"
He asked what happened, and asked why the baby had died.
I found it was easier to talk about than I thought,
and that actually the more I talked about it
the less it hurt.

He watched me cry with sympathetic eyes,
he asked how he could make it better.

"You can't." I whispered.

I couldn't stop the tears, I was embarrassed with my grief.

He was pensive, "I can make it better",
as he got his favorite blanket,
and climbed in bed with me.

He pulled back the blanket and touched my bare stomach.
I looked at him, and explained he wouldn't be able to see anything.
He smiled, and said he knew, then laid his head on my stomach.

"I will be the baby in your tummy,
and then you won't be lonely anymore."
and from that point I wasn't.