And, as taboo as I thought the word "miscarriage" was (I never even wanted to say the word out loud for fear that I was going to somehow jinx the pregnancy), loss of this kinds happens in many pregnancies. The fact that any of us make it from conception to birth, when there are any number of forces that can keep us from existing, is indeed a miracle. I realized it's called the miracle of life for a reason. My wife and I were not outliers on an island of parents, or some exception to the "having kids is easy" rule we had created in our minds. Some at 10 weeks, some closer to 15 or 20. It wasn't until I heard from many of my friends who are fathers that I discovered they had had similar experiences. I questioned God: Why is this happening to me even though I am good man, a good husband and a good son? I questioned my wife: Why didn't she put up her feet more and focus on bed rest? I questioned myself: Why was I not able to make two healthy boys? In this tragic moment, it was nice to have a bit of levity. My dad played the contrarian and said someone else. I remember looking at the twins with my parents, trying to figure out who they resembled. The nurses placed the boys in separate bassinets and allowed us to have some time with them before they would be taken away. Our second son emerged, and while I was still distraught, I kept my bawling to a minimum.
She gently patted my head to console me, while my parents remained stoic, but their eyes were welling up, too. I remember my wife not crying at all because I think in that moment she wanted me to be able to lean on her immense strength and courage.
I didn't think I had that many tears in me. I reluctantly replied yes, and the minute I saw his tightly closed eyes and motionless body, I cried like never before. Once my first boy was delivered, the OB asked if I wanted to see him. After surgery, my wife's water broke while we were at the hospital, and then we waited.
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