The Hardest Day? Probably just the emptiest day.

I had been warned.
"The hardest day will be when you get your first period after the miscarriage."
By several people who had been through a loss like that.
One woman told me that it only stood to remind her of her miscarriage and she couldn't help but sob.

Mine came on a sunny day. Sitting on a bench on Maxplatz while eating lunch from Nordsee with my friend.
I went to the WC, and instead of crying, I smiled.
It meant moving forward, it meant no more waiting to try again.
I actually did a little shimmy dance in the stall before leaving & paying my 50 euro cents to the attendant.
Who would've thought having to buy a box of o.b. would be cause for celebration?
When I came home, I called Michael at work.
He said "Really?! That is GREAT!"
Crack open the wine bottle and let's Kool & the Gang it...CEEELEBRATE good times C'mon! (While I wasn't doing the high kicks or wearing super cool white pants this was pretty much me:

I found it puzzling. I felt fine. Excited  and hopeful, even. I rationalized that it didn't remind me of the miscarriage, since I had a D&C. So, it wouldn't stand as any reminder for me. Only a promise of hope at trying again.

Fast forward through the Berlin weekend. To yesterday, Michael left for his weeks long training.
The first time he has been away from me since November 19th. Initially, I didn't think too much about it. Just that I miss him so when he's away.
I woke up at 4:30am to see him off. To stand at the window and wave as he walked away into the dark morning. I got my favorite blanket and pillow bringing it to the sofa. I turned on the television. Piers Morgan was on.
There I was, lounging in the dark just me and Piers and his interviewee (Rosie O'donnel btw)
I snuggled in and the thought hit me.
Wow. The last time you did this, you were pregnant, and awake trying NOT to throw up. And now, you are not pregnant, or sick.
I turned off the tv, collected my blanket and pillow and took it to our bed.

Later on I took the bus to the post office to pick up the package that was waiting. Normally on such a gorgeous sunny day, I'd had chosen to walk, but it was SO bitterly cold out. I opted for the bus.

In our mailbox was a card, a national geographic renewal notice, and a letter from Tricare.

I opened all three letters, standing at the bus stop. I opened the card (a sweet thank you note from Mike's sister) I opened the National Geographic renewal (eh)  I saved Tricare for last, only because that was the order I pulled the letters out of the mail box. It was a routine explaination of benefits. Explaining the costs of my blood work from my first prenatal visit.
I held it in my hands staring hard at it. Looking at the words, the cost.  Empty words, and a lot of money paid out for emptiness.

That. That was the harder than any period on a park bench.
I climbed on the bus, and chose an empty window seat and watched the sun rays dance through the trees empty of any leaves.
No tears to cry.
Just empty.