Journal name not available for this finding
Less than a year after the birth of our son, I lost my job as a high school English teacher. Six months later, my wife miscarried for the first of an eventual three times over the next year. We soon learned that the unique combination of our DNA creates a chemical imbalance through which her body subsequently terminates any natural pregnancy. We’re both fertile. We’re both healthy. And we do have a son. But as a couple, we’re both now also members of a tragically rare club of tiny statistics who will simply never again carry a baby to term. This chapter chronicles my journey through the loss of a life we never had. Through these voids, my family now knows a loneliness and sterility that I must believe can only be alleviated through our shared faith that what makes our story fragile is also what gives us strength. Grief has no guidelines. Loss isn’t linear and pain doesn’t come with a manual. As I begin piecing together the last several years, I can only do so in the order in which it best makes sense to me. Just as suffering may have no logic, my story struggles for sequence.