loss

I spent the first part of October in the United States. While I was there I was blessed to be able to visit with so many friends and to introduce them to the Little Mister. At times I felt pulled in far too many directions, but mostly it was good. Except for a moment of loss.

One night I saw a dear friend, let's call him Boris.* As soon as he looked at me I knew something was wrong. He was choked up when he said, "Please say a prayer for Natasha."**

He went on to explain that three days before she'd gone to see a doctor because she had a urinary tract infection. While she was there, she found out she was pregnant.

Natasha and Boris were shocked and overwhelmed and unsure of the future. They knew it wasn't very good timing, and they weren't sure they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. But they also knew it wasn't about them, that they had a baby to take care of.

Three foggy days later (back to the present) Natasha went to have an ultrasound to determine how far along she was.

There was no heartbeat.

The person doing the ultrasound (I really hope it wasn't a doctor saying this) told her that when she found out she was pregnant she stressed too much, and that's why her baby died.

Listening to Boris talk, explaining things slowly and monotone, my heart was breaking. When I heard that last comment, though, I was enraged. How dare someone tell Natasha that she killed her baby? What a horrible, heartless thing to say to someone who is probably in shock to begin with. I begged Boris to tell her that it wasn't her fault. He assured me that he'd already told her, and that he was comforting her every way he knew how.

Boris and Natasha were heartbroken and relieved at the same time. What an odd combination of feelings. Boris knew the timing was horrible, but he desperately wants children. He's not ready to settle down yet, but he longs for the day he can be Daddy. And regardless of how newly created the child was, that was his baby. His son or daughter. He grieves.

And I grieve with him. That little boy or girl would have been just about a year younger than the Little Mister. They probably would have been friends.

Boris was afraid to tell his parents, afraid that they would be angry, or disappointed, or give him a lecture. When he told them, they didn't say much of anything at all. Boris felt worse.

I ended up talking to Boris' parents. Turns out they didn't know what to say. They were heartbroken, but didn't know if Boris was heartbroken. They realized they had lost a grandchild, but they didn't know if Boris felt like he had lost a child. So they said nothing. When I told them all he wanted was to know that they cared about him and weren't mad at him, they talked to him and now things are better. Good. I was worried about all three of them.

I don't know what will happen with Boris and Natasha, if this is "the real thing" or if their relationship will fade. Right now they're doing okay, I think. I just wish they didn't have to deal with this loss.

Thanks for letting me ramble. This has been on my heart the past few days. It's hard being so far away. All I can really do is pray, and be there if Boris wants to talk.

And if you want to say a prayer for them...well, God knows who Boris and Natasha really are. :)


*A few people who know me in real life read this, and they don't really need to know Boris' identity. And anyway, wouldn't it be fun to have a friend called Boris? I could call myself Katerina and we could talk in Bad Russian Accents. ah-ah-ah! (Bad Russian Accent laugh)

**Boris' girlfriend. Again, not her real name.

* * * * * * *

In completely unrelated news: VICTORY!! Last night the Little Mister went down at 9:15...and he slept until 7:45 this morning!!