I wrote this three weeks ago but hesitated to post it because of shame. But I told myself that if I wanted to live a life of authenticity - and transmit that through the blog - I had to publish it. I didn't want to put up a front and cast a shadow of perfection. There is beauty in struggle. There is warmth in honesty. There is appreciation in realness. Besides, who wants to read about perfection anyway?

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There is no other heartbreak like this. I lie down on my back and hear the doctor say, 'There's the baby.' I smile with relief and look at my husband as he looks at the screen, proud and all. I stare at my baby floating in his or her own grainy gray world and think about how our lives are going to change, drastically and dramatically. Then the doctor interrupts my thoughts and adds, 'But there's no heartbeat.' I stay quiet, my husband stays quiet. 'It's probably embryonic demise,' the man in the white coat says. Demise? Demise? Doesn't that mean...? I don't ask him anything; I don't need him to confirm my thoughts. I dress myself and my husband says to me, 'Doesn't demise mean...?' I look up at him and say nothing...

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