I had a miscarriage a few weeks ago.

One day my best friend was texting me baby names to add to the notes app on my phone and the next she was sending me an edible arrangement.

Now I have a bright yellow mug that will always remind me of the time I almost had a baby, and how then I didn't.

I stomached prenatal vitamins, suffered through morning sickness, and indulged cravings.

This pregnancy started just the same, but the ending was different.

October used to be Halloween; now it's candy corn, costumes, and pregnancy and infant loss awareness month.

April used to pass without incidence, now I'll wonder how my labor would have been.

The calendar has been marked with new meaning; it's like someone took a red pen and with ugly handwriting wanted to remind me of a missing person.

I wonder, would I have had my last daughter or my first son.

Would this baby have been blonde like its father and sisters, or would I finally have brunette company?

I lost a baby and was given wonder in its place. Unanswerable, enduring wonder.

One in four pregnancies ends in loss.

And now I realize that every room I walk into has women who have been burdened by the heaviness of this wonder.