The Bad Egg

We are walking home from preschool, and out of the sky a perfect bird egg falls into the grass right next to us.

Marek swears a bird dropped it.

Marek stops instantly and picks it up. It is a small, light blue egg, beautiful and unblemished. He holds it in his hands and says, "I'm going to keep the egg warm so the bird will hatch."

I think he is crazy, of course. But our conversation quickly turns into plans of how to sustain the egg.

"How long will it take for an egg to hatch? Should I keep it in my pocket? I guess I'll build a nest for it out of fake feathers. Yeah, cotton balls, that's a good idea," brainstorms Marek. And he carries it all the way home, asking for assistance along the way to pull up his pants since his hands are otherwise occupied.

How does one sustain an egg?

In my four pregnancies, this was a mystery to me each time. Yes, four pregnancies. Three children.

The first egg was the bad egg. It didn't stick around long. But I think it was a girl. She was conceived in desperation about a week after my father gave me the talk, "So, Christa. You understand I am terminal. Now, are you ever going to have any children?"

I went home, changed my health insurance plans, and conceived in time so I could share with my Dad that, "Yes. I am going to have children."

My father passed away several days later, and I returned home to Colorado to miscarry.

It was YEARS before I shared this information with anyone other than Geoff and the poor male doctor who had to deal with an emotionally wrecked patient who had just lost a fetus and a father.

It turns out that miscarriage is common. It is especially common when one has just lost a loved one. But at the time I did not know this. I wandered around with my dog, and saw babies everywhere. I wondered if something was wrong with me. I felt like I had been kicked out of the parent club before I had even been welcomed. I wondered if I would ever get another chance to join. I waited the recommended three months which seemed SO LONG. And then along came Marek.

In retrospect, the fetus was just a blip. Thank goodness my body dispelled it instead of giving birth to a monster. Can you imagine four kids in our little house and one of them with two heads? Yet, even though it is ridiculous, I still feel like this was my child that had met my father. My only child that had met my father. And that still makes it harder than it should be. To lose a blip. A blip of expectation. A blip of hope. A blip of life.

I have found myself speechless for all things painful. And I wonder if others have done the same?

After my father died I could not write a Christmas letter for the first time in my adult life. Several years later I admired my friend's courage who not only sent a Christmas letter after her Mom's death, but included a beautiful eulogy. I cried for my friend's loss and a woman I had only met a few times.

I have vowed to share my pains so that others may gain from them. Bear with me.

Miscarriage happens all the time.

It happened to me.

As Kurt Vonnegut would say, "So it goes."

Try, try again.

Geoff is wondering if we should eat the bird egg.