"Someday this pain will be useful to you."

We don't always get what we want. Teaching that concept to our two-year-old daughter has been extremely challenging. Just yesterday, after I picked her up from daycare, she screamed her head off the whole way home because I did not have a sandwich in the car. In her tiny, developing mind, she could not fathom why, when she wanted a sandwich, I could not immediately produce the sandwich. Even as I type this, she is crying, off and on for close to an hour now, because she does not understand why she cannot have all of her books, all of her markers, all of her toys, and all of the food in her crib with her during nap time. She cannot be reasoned with, and it can make some of our days together feel pretty long.

But at 28, I too have breakdowns, tantrums, moments when I lack understanding or feel frustration because I cannot have what I want. I wanted to win the Powerball, but I didn't. I wanted to sleep in on Monday, but I had to go to work. And most recently, I wanted to be pregnant, but I had a miscarriage. At about five weeks. I am writing this the day of the miscarriage, in fact, so my thoughts and feelings are fresh. I have been through denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, all in the span of 24 hours. My mood swings are off the charts. My daughter has picked today of all days to not listen to a single word I say, destroying each room in the house one by one, and I do not have the energy to deal with her, let alone with what has happened. At times, I feel like I'm spiraling in a painful darkness. In my various efforts to cope, I turned to ice cream, chick flicks, sleep, distraction. Nothing has helped. Ultimately, I chose to write about it because I didn't know what else to do.

It has been a strange experience. Only our families knew we were expecting, so we only had to break the news to them. Reactions are, of course, sad, sending condolences, etc. I've googled more phrases and questions about miscarriages than I care to admit. I had a day fighting the belief it was happening, followed by a morning that left no doubt, and a doctor's appointment that confirmed it. "At least it was early." That's true. "You can try again." Also true. Still, it has been oddly ... heartbreaking. More so than I thought it would be. Knowing the odds, I had tried to mentally prepare myself for this since my last pregnancy, but still, it hurt. I was supposed to see the doctor next week. I was looking forward to him checking for a heartbeat. Instead, he checked for residual tissue.

Our baby was just two pink lines on a pregnancy test, maybe a little fatigue, an extra bathroom trip in the night. But we called it our "Captain". Captain Tracy, due in October, three years after its sister. There was excitement, there was hope, there was anticipation, and now there is only cramping and bleeding and exhaustion. And I don't know how to feel. I cry in the car, on the couch. I laugh with friends and family, and along with the TV. I yell at my daughter, at my dogs, at myself. I feel blessed and burdened. I am lucky, and I feel empty. The pain seems small, but the pain is mine. I shouldn't complain, but I am sad. That's it. I'm sad. And I feel like I shouldn't be, or like I don't deserve it because others face actual tragedies that are far far worse and I'm just one in six and so many know exactly what this is like and it's a good thing it was early and we can try again and this early on it could not have been prevented and it was out of our control and we're blessed it happened sooner rather than later and and and. But I'm still sad. I didn't get what I wanted, and our Captain is gone. And of course, there is an added fear for the future. Is this a one time thing or an omen of things to come? But we can't know that now.

I take solace in my belief that our Captain's body would not have been able to house its spirit, that it was flawed by nature and we will get a second chance to create a body that will be able to become Captain's home on this earth. I do believe it wasn't good enough for him or her and I hope that when a perfect body is ready to grow, Captain will try to come again.

So for now I will writhe in pain a little longer, try to enjoy a day off from work, then we will go eat sushi and drink lots of caffeine and ride some roller coasters and wait until we can try again.

God is cool. I really believe that. I think He's just a really awesome guy and I'm a big fan of His work. I love how He communicates with me, how He has found a way to bypass my stubbornness and my laziness and my greed and enter my heart. He knows what I'm passionate about, how I spend my time, and where I will recognize advice and answers. The other night I was watching one of my favorite shows, and a character quoted Ovid: "Dolor hic tibi proderit olim" - Someday this pain will be useful to you. This has become my mantra during this trial, as I have audibly recited it to myself over and over, and I think God carried it from a page of a script through a screen and into my heart. He's that good. It has given me strength, and actually made me excited to someday see how this pain will be useful to me. As I look back over my life, every difficult thing I have had to encounter has taught me something, made me a better person in some way. I know there is a lesson to be learned in all of this, and that me and my family will be better off because of it.

We may not always get what we want. Did I want my daughter to learn how to climb out of her crib today? No, I certainly did not. But time passes, things change, life goes on, and through it all, our pains and our struggles and our challenges, however minor or severe, will be useful to us... someday.