On the morning after my miscarriage four summers ago, my then four-year-old daughter gave me the sweetest Get Well card, or as she wrote it, Get Mell. I was bedridden on a Tuesday morning, feeling horrible and having barely slept the night before, though she didn?t know why. I told her that Mommy wasn?t feeling well, and Daddy was going to have to make her breakfast.
Stomach pain subsiding, I managed another hour of sleep before I heard a gentle knock on my door. It was my daughter, clutching something in her hand. She extended what looked like a piece of paper to me.
?What?s this, Sweetie"? I asked groggily.
?I made you a card.?
?That?s so nice, honey!? I was truly touched, but feeling so physically awful that I had to force myself to sound chipper. I opened the card. Written in her shaky four-year-old handwriting were the words “Get Mell.” I was nearly moved to tears.
?Sweet Potato,? I said, ?this is the nicest card I?ve ever gotten. I think Mommy is ready to get up now.?
I searched for my slippers. Mercifully, my husband had already arranged to stay home from work. I was in no condition to be the main caregiver that day. I?d spent most of the night in the bathroom, and when I wasn?t in there, attempting fitful bursts of sleep. The bulk of the stomach pain lasted from midnight to 5 a.m., so by the time my daughter was up, I was feeling a bit better?just so, so tired.
Before heading downstairs, I looked at my daughter?s card one more time. It was such a sw...