It (would have been) . . . .

This morning I had my two-week check-up following my surgery. The doctor was very kind and sympathetic (which didn't exactly help me maintain my composure), but I found out the following:

1. It was a boy (something that I'd felt when I was carrying him).

2. They don't know what caused the baby to die. There was nothing clearly wrong with either the baby or with me. (Which means most likely an outside infection or something else equally unpreventable).

The second was a relief to know--it wasn't something I could, or should, have done differently. But the first made me start crying again, because it suddenly seemed more real. This wasn't just a nameless mass of tissue--it was a baby boy, who had the potential to become a real human being. After the doctor left (telling me I could take as long as I needed in the room), I found myself rocking back and forth a little, my arms aching for a baby I will never hold.