Let Her Eat Cake
"For thirty minutes, I was distracted by the surprise, the selection, and his level of thoughtfulness"
On the third day of my second miscarriage, my husband bought me dessert. Four different flavors of cheesecake, and one slice of tiramisu. This was the first time in days that my belly had hurt from laughter as opposed to excruciating pain. “I didn’t know which one you wanted,” he said, “so I bought them all.”
It was such an innocent thought.
I had screamed in the doctor’s office earlier that day. The loud piercing scream that shatters through walls when you’re first told the news. We had seen the vacuous sac on the ultrasound, and my heart was equally as hollow. The tears refused to stop falling. I did not want words of encouragement. I did not want condolences. I did not want to be told to try again.
What words could not accomplish, my husband’s gesture managed to. I distinctly remember our forks furiously digging into each treat. We made a game out of ranking which dessert was best. It was the tiramisu. For thirty minutes, I was distracted by the surprise, the selection, and his level of thoughtfulness.
Faith without works is dead, and love without action is too. Showing love through loss is one of the most difficult things to master. But when you give your best effort, and do it abundantly, you would be surprised at how well it’s received.
Republished with the permission of Supportal.