I just read Meghan Markle’s piece on Miscarriage and how it almost feels like a secret club that mourns in isolation and silence, published on the NYT and

What many of you don’t know is that before we had Yomelela, there was Milani and unfortunately my wife miscarried.

It was the most painful and loneliest grief ever, add to that the shame of treating it like a secret that needed to be spoken or discussed in hush tones and you have a recipe for a grief that knows no light as you have to pretend to be ok in case someone asks what’s wrong?

I can still remember my wife telling me while we were watching TV that ‘she doesn’t feel pregnant anymore’, the symptoms she had just disappeared and I thought it was anxiety and the overthinking that comes with it. She went to a GP who confirmed she was still very much preggies.

After that visit, her fears still didn’t subside so on a Friday we went to a gynae and started what would be the longest weekend ever. Did his thing and then told us to wait for the blood tests, BUT if she started bleeding, we must immediately go to the emergency unit.

In silence we went home, holding hands, clinging on to desperate hope even though we both knew that we were just waiting for the inevitable. She had long known I suspect but it’s still shock when it eventually happened. Even though we held hands, we still felt lonely and scared.

Then the notifying one family member, who in turn notifies many and the sequence of answering calls starts. Everyone says be strong, be especially strong for her. Don’t show her you’re breaking or hurting. I know better but I internalise it.

I take bathroom breaks to cry, I make sure I’m not with her when I allow myself to feel, next to her I’m always strong, whatever that means. So a week later when I return to work and break down, she tells me how she wanted to see at least one tear, just to know I’m also here.

The foolishness of it all. The performance of strength that chips at you. We find each other, we can talk about it freely to each other but to the outside world, it’s almost like no one wants to hear about that. Like it’s a shame for you to carry alone, without reprieve.

We find ourselves, even though not quite the same, we find each other and our love, even though it feels a little shaken. Therapy helps, a great deal and we are able to find the strength and the hope required to try again.

So when others say is this your first child, we hesitantly answer yes and search for each other’s eyes, the sadness is not quite there but we still know what we lost. I don’t think it’s possible to ever forget it.

You go from sleeping holding a tummy to not even knowing if you can hold her at all. Even in communication there’s a feeling of utter loneliness. Then the sad stares of those who know but unable to say something, where would they start?

Also NB to note is that the support structure is mostly women. Not even one man calls to say I know where you are, I’ve been there before. The woman in my family tell me about their own miscarriages, unspoken pain shared in a secret club of members who wish they were never in it.

My wife and I talk about it very freely now, I suppose the presence of Yomelela greatly helps but it should never have been a journey of lonely grief filled with shame and for her probably heightened by not being able to have a full pregnancy. It should be spoken about more

Having gone through a miscarriage should not be a membership card to a secret club of silently going through grief and talking about it in hushed tones as if it’s a taboo or a shame to carry.