Lest someone believe that all Stirrup Queens and Sperm Palace Jesters (SQs and SPJs to you) know the right thing to say, we experience the same lack of words when confronted by someone else's fertility loss. Our book will have many ideas of what NOT to say/do, but since comfort is subjective, I'm not sure we can make the inverse list--the right thing to say, the right hug to give, the right phone call to make. I think if we keep the mantra: it's all about (fill in name here) and not about me, we do okay. Not great. Not wonderful. Okay. But, then again, I'm come from the mindset that the only thing that will completely assuage the pain is to not be experiencing it at all. Therefore, nothing said or done will completely take it away.
Last night, a friend revealed that she had recently had a miscarriage. And I, a Stirrup Queen through and through, could not come up with anything comforting to say. Beyond listening. And a hug. The magical me wanted to conjure a parade of elephants into the living room, marching over the gorgeously shiny hardwood floors to deposit her baby back into her tummy to cook for many more months.
It's hard when you realize that you are no more magical than anyone else you encountered during your IF experience.
I'm so sorry, sweetie. I wish there was something I could do for you. Something to help the healing move even faster. I can't--and I'm so sorry about that too. I'm here with information if you need it. I'm here with an open ear if you want to talk. I'm here with a car that can drive downtown and pick you up for some extremely mindless female bonding that includes alcohol. Or...at the very least...chocolate and coffee (wait, chocolate and coffee? I mean, we will sit down and eat an entire chocolate cake IN ONE SITTING). I can't put the baby back in your belly no matter how tightly I hug you. I'm sorry about that too. Hang in there. Know that the entire self-aware portion of womanhood has your back.