After the last story that I was told about a stillbirth, I started wondering if they're kind of like plane crashes.
They're terrifying, and yet the odds of your plane going down are lower than you winning the lottery or something like that.
These stillbirth stories are tragic, upsetting, horrifying stories...and somehow, somehow people keep telling me about them. At least once every other week, I'd say. Something that happened to them. To their wife. To a friend.
But then I gave it some thought, and realized that plane crashes, while sensational, can't be as common.
A friend of my cousin's died in the Lockerbee explosion. But other than that, I don't think I have any friends of friends who have died in plane crashes. Knock wood, of course.
But the late-pregnancy miscarriages, the stillbirths (which is what they call them after 20 weeks), Christ, it seems like every third person has a story.
And they tell them to me.
And then, then after they've told me the worst piece - that the baby died in-utero at five months, six months, full-term...they all of a sudden look stricken, look down at my belly, and stop, and say, "I shouldn't be telling you this."
Silently, I think, "No fucking kidding."
Out loud I say, "I can't really talk about this."
The most recent person to do this to me is a friend of Nick's. He was telling me that their first child was incredibly premature - and now she's a healthy 19-year old. This led to him telling me about the 5-month stillbirth...
But in a case like this, once you know the worst of it, you don't want them to stop. Because you want to know the WHY?
You want to know that this won't happen to you. Was there a logical reason?
No, not that they know of. There was nothing apparently wrong with their baby. It just happens.
You can't worry about everything, all the time. But somehow, I do try.
It's like the punch in the face versus the $1,000 for leaving your house kind of thing. I just haven't had Nick lay it all out for me in those terms yet.