Back in february when I was still pregnant, one day when I had a doctor’s appointment I locked my keys in my car. I panicked and ended up running to our neighbor’s for some help. Our very very kind neighbor ended up driving me to my appointment at the hospital while Den came home to unlock my car.

That happened to be the first day in many months that I had spoken to our neighbor, and of course, being that she drove me to my midwife appointment and the fact that I had a bulging belly, it was the first time she had heard that I was pregnant. Everything was fine that day, and I thanked her profusely for her help.

I didn’t speak to that neighbor for several months. After we lost Devin I would sometimes see her or her husband outside, and they’d wave to us, we’d wave back. There is no fence between the yards, so they’d frequently see us as we were taking the dogs out to the woods. Every time I saw her I would get nervous, wondering when she was going to ask me about the “good news.” There were days Den and I would spend outside in our garden, me obviously not pregnant anymore, with no baby beside us. But the question never came.

I thought about how she must be wondering, how she must be thinking that it was a little odd that she’d never seen a baby here. I figured I had to tell her at some point. Especially after she’d helped us out when I was pregnant, I felt like I at least owed it to her to tell her what had happened. I didn’t want to stop when I had the dogs, though, because they go nuts barking and it’s not a conversation you want to have while your dog is trying to jump all over you. One day when I was weeding my peas I saw her working on her garden and it seemed like the time was right. She walked into her garage and I took a deep breath and straightened up, ready to walk over there when she came back out. But she didn’t. I didn’t see her again the rest of the day, and I just let it go.

It’s been hanging over my head for three months now.

Today as I put my stuff in my car, about to leave for work, I saw her watering her plants in her front yard. I knew it was time. Absently jingling my car keys in my hand I walked into her yard. “Hi,” I said. “It’s been a while. I’m sure you must have been wondering about the baby…” She stood up and looked at me, her expression closed, guarded. “Well, I wanted to let you know… that we lost the baby. At 8 months.”

I didn’t see shock or horror on her face… just sorrow. Her eyes welled up. “I’m so sorry. I saw you around, and I wondered, but… I didn’t want to bring it up, you know?”

I told her about the tree we planted. She said she’d noticed the tree, but hoped it was for a good reason. I got the feeling that she knew. Not knew, but… suspected that all wasn’t well. She was waiting, hoping that she was wrong. She said she wondered if maybe she’d just been wrong about when I was due, and that’s why she hadn’t seen a baby.

She said she lost a baby halfway through a pregnancy… after many years of infertility (no treatment, just many years of no pregnancy). A few months after her loss, she got pregnant again with her living son. That was over 20 years ago. She cried a little, talking about it. She gave me a hug. She told me she wished I’d told her sooner, that she would have been here to hold my hand or whatever we needed. But she understands why I didn’t, why I couldn’t bring it up.

I feel so thankful for such great neighbors. She said they might be moving. I selfishly hope they don’t. And if they do, I want to be sure to get their new address so I can send her news when I do get pregnant again… and send her pictures of our next child when he or she is born healthy and alive.