Grief comes in waves. It is not linear, and there is no expiration date or expectations on it. It may feel as big as a poppy seed one day, then as big as the ocean the next. I think that is what is the hardest part of grieving a loss; not know when the pain will end, or if it will end. Not knowing if you’ll ever feel the way you did before your loss. Not knowing if you’ll ever get the future you’ve envisioned and planned for your whole life. I’m three months post the worst day of my life, the day I learned that I had miscarried for the second time. Some days it feels like I’m all good, healed and happy again. Others, like today, I feel every emotion I felt while getting the ultrasound that shattered my heart. Why can’t I get past this? I feel like a broken record when I talk about it with the few people I’ve already shared these feelings with time and time again. Pregnancy loss feels so lonely. My circle who knows wants to be supportive. They say things like “well I’ve heard it’s pretty common.” “You’ve still got plenty of time, you’re young.” They have no idea the pain I feel, and I am very glad they haven’t had to experience this. I wouldn’t want my friends to ever feel this way. But at the same time, I am selfishly jealous that they had such easy experiences. Grateful for them of course, but jealous. It is such a complicated emotion to navigate and I am looking forward to a time when I can move past this point in my life. I cling to the hope that I will have a loving baby one day, but feel crushed by the fear that it may never happen.