Has the world created a false image about the persona of a "real" man? Natural protectors, taught to be emotional stable - but were they ever told how to grief? The reality of miscarriage is something that has been around for ages. The destructive footprint it creates, is echoed in many memoirs recorded by psychologists, attempting to counsel broken souls after losing their first, or only chance of becoming a mother. Amidst the despair stands a silent figure, the protector of the family; awkwardly trying to sooth her soul, while fielding yet another message from a close friend or family member asking how his wife is doing. Not many are aware of the hidden sorrow within this man. I will never forget 2015. As many expectant couples do, we were overjoyed with the news that we would be first-time parents. We made so many plans, and went about excitedly creating innovative ways of breaking the news to our parents, soon-to-be first-time grandparents. The news of the miscarriage created something nightmarish within me. All I could do was put all my effort into supporting my wife and buried my feelings deep down to cope. The next morning after receiving the news, I took my wife to have the procedure done to scrape away the evidence of our baby. One of the most challenging things I have ever had to do was to walk out of my wife`s room so that they could take her into theater. When we eventually returned home, we spent hours just sitting with each other in stillness, me almost stony-faced, just holding my wife. With an excuse that I needed to freshen up, I shut myself away in the bathroom, collapsed and broke down uncontrollably. How, as a man, could I have been prepared for this scenario? How is it possible to be there for my wife, yet deal with the feeling that something was ripped from my soul? The next morning we both woke up early, and emptiness filled the room, and I allowed myself to break down in front of my wife, and we wept together for what felt like hours. Within the trauma of a miscarriage, lies the stigma that the man doesn't feel the pain that his wife or partner goes through. True, a woman goes through indescribable pain both emotionally and physically, as her body tries to heal due to the miscarriage-aftermath. However, what the world seems to shy away from, though, is that "real" man, trying to hide his emotions to support his wife, wearing a fake smile while letting the family know how his wife is doing; is equally as devastated. My opinion is that support for the man gets lost in the attempt to comfort the mother. According to the British Miscarriage Association, it is suggested that “More than 50% of all pregnancies end in a miscarriage or stillbirth, but that almost half of all men whose partners miscarry never speak about their grief with their partner for fear of saying the wrong thing.” Really? Has society been programmed to that extent to suggest that men cannot show emotions and should not cry? Here`s a thought: It is not because of a weariness that you might hurt your partner, that keeps us silent. Although we are shattered beyond recognition, amidst this storm, we don't recognize our own weeping hearts. We are meant to be warriors, and yet the weeping heart of a father is unreal to us as men and yet as real as the mother's despair. Strangely, studies had to be conducted to see the effect of a miscarriage on men. Considering society`s false image, are these studies led to see how men can be counselled, or is it done to see if men are supporting their wife or partner correctly? More needs to be done to support fathers going through miscarriages. Men need to write about the suffering of men; without taking away the sorrow of a mother. When a couple experiences a loss like this, healing is needed for both parties. Every year in the birth-week of our baby, this father`s heart still weeps quietly.

He admits he stole this from another father, but as a little girl it didn't matter. What mattered was that my dad never failed to say it before leaving my bedside, “If I lined up all the little girls in the whole wide world, I would pick you to be my daughter.” I would beam, give him a kiss, and drift off to sleep. Every night. I graduated college, moved away and began a teaching position in North Texas. Though no one was tucking me in at bedtime, it was guaranteed that I received flowers twice a year: Valentine's Day and my birthday. On every card my dad would sign it, “If I lined up all the girls in the whole wide world, I would pick you to be my daughter”. Now that I was older, it meant considerably more to me. Growing up, my parents were not shy about the purity conversation. They talked about how beautiful it was, inside the context of marriage, but gave us appropriate warnings when done outside of its original intention. There was no question left unanswered. They had thoroughly directed me to the pathway of righteousness and I stayed on it for a long time. Then I turned 27, met a man and became pregnant almost immediately. One word sums up everything I felt in that moment…destroyed. Nearly instantaneously, an evil whispering entered my ear. “Your dad won't love you anymore. You have humiliated him in front of everyone. And he will never love this kid. Ever.” These thoughts were not a result of anything that happened between my dad and me. We had a wonderful relationship our entire lives. These were whisperings of a foul presence desperately trying to bring me into a place of fear. “But were any of these thoughts actually true? Was my dad still going to love me? Would he love this baby?” All of these uncertainties were running through my head, getting crueler by the minute. I was helplessly plummeting into a deep pit. I knew I had to tell them…so I packed and got in the car. After three wearisome hours, I drove up into my beloved parent's house. This beautiful home that was filled with treasured memories; hundreds of nights playing games, taking our dog to the lake on weekends, prayers before bed, constant laughter, holding each other through family deaths, words of wisdom through high school, fun memory after fun memory…it all hit me as I put my car in park. I didn't want to go in. This home that was once filled with unreserved joy…I now entered carrying heavy and almost unendurable sorrow. I was bearing an excruciating wound, something I had never experienced before. Just walking in the door, I knew, would be piercingly painful. I took numerous deep breaths and turned the knob. I won't go into all of the details of that first evening, but it wasn't perfect. My parents are undeniably the godliest couple that I know, but this particular night wasn't great. Feelings were heightened and emotional things were said. Everyone was on edge, feelings were hurt and pronounced apprehension was in our midst. The three of us each went to bed with angst. When I woke up around 8:30 the next morning, my parents already at work. I walked soundlessly into the living room and sat down on the couch. I had no music on, no TV, no phone, nothing. I was sitting, alone and quiet. I was completely numb. I had been there for about an hour when I heard the familiar creak of the back door. My heart began to pound and beads of sweat rose upon my palms, panic had set in. I was immobile. Steadily looking at the ground, I saw my dad's church shoes slowly sit down in an oversized chair across from me, but he didn't say a word. As he sat there still and pensive, looking down at the floor, I began to think about all of the dreams I had lost. “The look of my father seeing me in a white dress on my wedding day: Ruined. All of the protection and guidance he had given me for 27 years: I had stomped on it. Every time he would look at me now, he would see me for what I was: Used, torn, and publicly blemished.” The room was tense, heavy and thick with anxiety. We sat there quietly for probably only 5 minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, even with thoughts racing through my head, heart throbbing, feeling nauseated, I looked up at him and with a quiver in my tone, all I could get out was, “Dad…I don't have anything else to say except I'm sorry. I am so very, very, sorry.” My dad looked up at me, silently lifted up his sturdy hand, tenderly waved my words away and said, “Oh Lauren...if I lined up all the little girls in the whole wide world, I would still pick you… every time.” And with those words, I wept, uncontrollably wept, for a really long time. I sobbed out every fear and all of the evil thoughts penetrating my mind. Those potent words, those very simple words…In one of my lowest valleys, he chose to speak life-giving words and it forever displayed his unconditional love to me. I don't have enough words to express the love I have for my dad.