Miscarriage

The word ‘miscarriage’ keeps popping into my head.

‘Miscarriage’ – the expulsion of a foetus before it is viable. Before breath and life and growth. Somehow, something happens. A fall, a slip. Fall, falling , fallen. A slip of the tongue. Could it always be that a fall and a slip prelude a miscarriage?

But a miscarriage is also the failure to attain the just, right, or desired result, as in a miscarriage of justice. But who is the one to judge on what is just? And whose desires are in play when one talks about desired results? Is it a miscarriage if one party desires it and one does not?

Miscarriage – also the failure of something sent, as a letter, to reach its destination. A sense of forlornness. A letter sent in hope and not replied. Hope aborted, no, not aborted since it is not deliberate, miscarried.

But beneath all the word play, there is calm and quiet and loss and resignation and sadness.

My overanalyzing mind wonders if this is about the incident in question or about the context in which it occurs, of just turning 30, of spending the night surrounded by colleagues talking about children, of losing losing hope that I will be held and accepted by someone I love and respect.

Forlorn. But I press on.