Sept 12th, 2010

Today marks a very emotional one year anniversary. Not too many people know about our first pregnancy, we kept it under wraps since it was over before it really got started, but now a year later we can share the experience with the contrasting joy of having Sage in our arms, and knowing that the first one was never meant to be.

At this time last year we were 10 weeks into our first pregnancy. It was too early to know much about the embryo, but when Lisa started showing some signs that there was a problem, we had an ultrasound done. All the ultrasound tech said to us was that the embryo was a little small for 10 weeks, she let our doctor tell us the rest. Lisa spoke to the doctor on the phone, and from the look in her eyes I knew that our world was about to fall apart. The embryo had stopped growing a few weeks earlier, and it was only a matter of time before Lisa’s body would reset itself.

We returned home from the hospital and latched together for support, alternately leaning on each other and carrying each other, emotionally waltzing through the experience. We had some decisions to make.

It was Friday, September 11th, 2009. A miscarriage was imminent, and we were slated to join our Nossa Familia Coffee friends on Cycle Oregon, a week long bike ride in Southern Oregon beginning the next day. Accommodations would be basic, tents and porta potties, showering in semi-trucks and the entire camp would re-locate every day to a new site up to 100 miles away. To me, the thought of going on this trip was a bit reckless, but Lisa wanted to forge ahead and be far away from our home so as to not associate home with a miscarriage. I relented eventually when she agreed that if she became uncomfortable we could go to a hotel.

By Saturday morning, none of the tell-tale contractions had begun, so we packed up the car, picked up Jeff, a friend who was joining us, and started the four hour drive south. We let Jeff know what was going on, and he was incredibly supportive as we drove south to Medford. A few contractions began during the drive, and by the time we rolled into camp Lisa and I began walking the campsite holding hands waiting for her body to do what it needed to do. There were 2000 cyclists bustling all round us, setting up tents, assembling bicycles, local musicians performed on a stage, and the beer garden was rollicking. Amongst the crowd, we sat hugging on a picnic table, in our own little bubble, the contractions getting stronger and closer together. Eventually, Lisa passed what was to be our first child. We held each other for a long time afterwards, knowing that the worst was over, and grieving the loss.

We called family and close friends that night to give them the news, since not too many people knew about the pregnancy to begin with, the list was short. There was something about putting the experience into words that solidified it for me. My parents and brother reached out to me over the phone, and Lisa’s family did the same for her. It was hard to share the pain, but it was wonderful to know that they had us in their thoughts. I still have the text message in my phone from our dear friend Andy that reads; i am carrying your hearts in my heart. you do not have to carry this all on your own. xo.

Sunday morning, Lisa warms her hands on the milk steamer, it's cold at 4am.

So it was done, the next morning we got up at 4 am, started the generator, and with the 6 other Nossa Familia crew we went to work making hundreds of espresso drinks as the sun rose. Lisa was feeling pretty good all things considered, and being the primary barista, stood up the whole time making delicious beverages as I pulled espresso shots next to her. After most of the riders left camp, we packed up our stuff and some of us rode bikes while the rest drove from Medford to Yreka. It was a day that I chose to ride, and grinding up and over the Ashland pass on a 70 mile day was a great way to clear my head and let out some of the emotion that had been pent up over the past few days. Lisa drove ahead in one of the vans, and we met up that evening feeling like things were slowly returning to normal.

Monday, the following day, we were up long before the sun and again made enough espresso drinks to caffeinate a small city. Then Lisa and I, along with some other Nossa Familia and Dragonfly Chai crew, hopped on our bikes and rode westward along the winding Klamath river towards the town of Happy Camp.

Two days after the miscarriage, on our way to Happy Camp.

It was on this 50 mile ride that I came to appreciate even more this person who I had been married to for over 4 years. Lisa’s strength is staggering. Her ability to strive ahead into something as scary as a miscarriage while on a week-long camping trip only to hop back on her bike two days later blew my mind.

Along the Klamath river we go

I think if our roles were reversed, I would have been couch bound at home, seeking all the comforts of the familiar. But Lisa didn’t want to wallow in misery, she knew that it happened all the time, that miscarriage was a natural thing that her body could deal with. She would physically survive and we would both emotionally recover. The trip was a good temporary coping mechanism, and as the days rolled on we got up early, made coffee, hung out with some amazing people, and ate fantastic food.

We confided in our Nossa friends Jeff and Jason on the trip, and their support really helped us get through it. It was a very personal thing, so we played our cards close to our chest.

Once we returned home, there was still a lot to deal with emotionally, and one of the trade-offs of postponing acute greiving is that it got spread out over time; I think it took longer to recover, but maybe the pain was duller.

We came to call the first pregnancy “Take 1”, and although it was a pretty terrible experience, I came to appreciate the tenuous nature of gestation. I had always expected that pregnancy equals baby, but there’s a lot of unpredictable things that can happen when two cells become millions. Take 1 also reinforced to me how emotionally ready I was to be a father, maybe it’s the tendency to want what you can’t have, but once Sage’s pregnancy set in, I didn’t take any of it for granted.

Now, as I write this a year afterwords, with Sage sleeping on my chest, it becomes clear to me how well it all turned out. We may have our fussy moments, our frustrations and times when she complicates simple things eating a warm meal, but we have her, and she is healthy.

And she is beautiful.

My two beautiful ladies.

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