The same breath that the doctor used to tell me our baby had no heartbeat was the same one she used to tell me that the miscarriage was not my fault. The words flew out of her mouth nearly faster than was humanly possible. It wasn't anything you did wrong, she said.
It is not your fault.
It is not your fault.
It is not your fault.
Years ago when I was in the hospital a perinatologist sat on the edge of my bed rolling an ultrasound probe around my heavily pregnant belly. She was studying the rapid flutter of our son's heart on the screen before her. This wasn't something you caused, she told me.
It is not your fault.
It is not your fault.
It is not your fault.
I know that...mostly. I believe what they have told me...mostly. But in the pit of my stomach sits a heavy black stone and it pulses periodically with ugly guilt. If I can't blame myself then on whom can I place the blame? There is no one else and so I wonder if maybe, yes, it is my fault.
