It feels like there are no words. When we found out I was pregnant, we told our families and our closest friends. Today I had to tell them that I am miscarrying. They all console me and ask if I want to talk, but what is there to say? There is so much to feel, and nothing to say.

Last night I started bleeding while watching a video on how babies develop in the womb. My wife was assigned to watch the film for her Human Growth and Development class, a prerequisite to the nursing program she is trying to get into. I was excited to watch along, and to imagine the new life growing in me.

When I saw the blood, my heart sank. Maybe it’s okay, I told myself. Many women bleed a little in early pregnancy. But it didn’t feel okay.

I dreamt about miscarriage. I dreamt about death and tears and sitting alone on dark bathroom floors.

I woke up to more blood. As I went to the bathroom, more blood. Clots. So much blood. I cried as my body brutally expelled my hopes and dreams. Over the next day or so, I will watch as my body eliminates life.

I walked out to the sun room and sat on the rocking chair. My toddler climbed up into my lap and immediately began kissing my face. “Mom sad? No sad. No Mom sad.” Her little lips pressed together then pressed to my cheek. She cradled my head in her hands and kissed me over and over again.

At least it happened early, I tell myself. I can always try again. But there is little solace there. I know that things will be okay in the long run, but today is not the long run.

I am so thankful for this precious little girl, covering my tear-streaked face with her kisses. I am also overwhelmed with grief for the kisses I had anticipated giving my newborn in February—kisses that will never come to be.

I know I will kiss another. I know my body will heal and I have heard that there is an increased chance of conceiving shortly after miscarriage. I know these things, but right now I don’t feel them.

Yesterday I was pregnant. Today I am not. And right now I just feel sad.