I had a miscarriage.

It began with a beautiful relationship that out of nowhere began quickly falling. He was good to me, and I to him. Just when I began to feel completely comfortable with myself in my new commitment, we fell apart out of nowhere. It happened at a party. I was in bed, sick. He had just tucked me into my lofted dorm bed, kissed me on the forehead, told my roommate to let him know if I was sick again and left for the championship game party.

It was unexpected and terrifying.

For two weeks I found myself stuck in that uncomfortable dorm bed, rarely dragging myself up to greet the world. My back ached, my head screamed and a fever made itself well known throughout my entire being. Ibuprofen didn’t help. Neither did sleeping, eating or exercising. Nothing worked. My doctor was baffled at why I was so sick. I couldn’t attend classes and I couldn’t get myself up to eat.

I woke up one morning after those two weeks without a sign of sickness.

A few days after the party he told me of a girl he had met that night. She was taller than me. She was beautiful in a way I simply am not. She saw him as he saw her. They wanted each other. It is simply human to want another person, but it must be animal to want another so passionately that you would let it tear apart the beautiful relationship you have patiently waiting for you at home.

That same morning he told me of the girl, I decided to do something. I had been avoiding it with every ounce of my being, but I somehow found the courage from somewhere deep inside myself to walk to the bathroom and take the test. I have never wanted to do poorly on a test before. Why would anyone? This one, however, I wanted to see a negative result, but we can’t always get what we want.

It was positive.

One week later, broken hearted but grateful to be healthy, I still hadn’t heard from him. I couldn’t get myself to tell him. I could barely muster a soft “hello” any time he looked in my general direction. Another week went by and I was laying in bed, haunted by the thought that there was a little person growing inside of me. It’s a terrifying thought for any young girl to be carrying out of wedlock or outside any form of serious commitment. It had been a long week of sleepless nights. I decided the only way to begin to fall asleep peacefully at night was to do one thing.

I had to tell him.

I would do it in the morning. I would tell him I needed to talk to him and if he had an issue with it he could suck it up, because this is important. I was the one who was left on the curb, he at least owed me this. It was still a difficult thought. I actually had to put this into words. I had to vocalize something I tried denying. Vocalizing it makes it all too real. My roommate was home for the weekend, so I practiced saying it to myself so it wouldn’t be as scary saying it to his face. I fell asleep a little easier that night.

The next morning was, without exaggeration, the worst day of my life. Without going into too much detail, I was sure I woke up and witnessed the aftermath of a miscarriage that morning. I took a test to confirm.

It was still positive.

I went through that day keeping my head down. I didn’t talk to my friends. I didn’t talk to my sisters. I barely spoke to my professors. I am most definitely a coffee addict, and I didn’t even order a coffee for fear of speaking to the woman at Dunkin Donuts. I didn’t communicate with anyone if I could help it. I felt that if I tried to speak I wouldn’t be able to. The next day I took another one.

It was still positive.

I continued keeping my head down, only talking to a select few people, still avoiding it if at all possible. A week later I took another test. Finally, it was negative. The scare was over. I thought I would be relieved, yet I felt like I was carrying the heaviest burden I ever have. My stomach felt empty, as if there was a hole cutting directly through me.

I still had to tell him.

So I did. I told him in a silent, anxiety ridden room, still sitting in that same spot on my lofted bed. I thought I might hold myself together, but all hope of that flew out the window the moment I heard his hand begin to move the handle of my door. I couldn’t speak. I saw him walk in the room looking confused as ever. I felt the sentence pour from deep inside me. Without warning, I heard myself say for the first time, “I had a miscarriage.” The tears began to fall as I felt control leave my body. He stood there for a brief moment, but it was a moment that felt like it lasted much longer. “I’m sorry” was all I heard as he walked out the door.

Those were the last words we ever exchanged.

The experience as a whole has made me a firm believer that wisdom comes by experience, not by ear, nor by learning in a traditional classroom setting. To have wisdom about any particular subject, one must experience the matter first hand. Adults are traditionally fully functioning citizens who are full of knowledge and who paved the path for the next generation. This does not, however, make them wise. High school students are trained as citizens-to-be, following the lead of the mentors and power figures in their lives. The knowledge contained in the adult world is passed on to them. That leaves college-aged students stuck somewhere in the middle, with basic knowledge on often times immensely heavy and highly debated topics. They are forced to take a stand on these issues often with far too little information than they should have. Sometimes they have a vast array of knowledge, greater than others older than them. Students should not be forced to take a stand on issues they do not have a personal connection to.

Some students have experienced things others might not understand. This begins to make said students wise on these matters, but what is left of the issues one has not experienced first hand? Relative to the previously stated anecdote, matters such as the highly debated abortion come to mind. Unfortunately, I have begun to become wise on the topic of losing a baby. I have never felt more passionate or more sure of any topic ever discussed. Students are told to take a stand, be it pro-life or pro-choice, oftentimes when they have little to no knowledge on the topic, let alone experience. Maybe they have done their research. Maybe they know someone who has had an abortion, or someone who refused an abortion, but until they have first hand experience with the subject matter, no one should be told to take a stand or choose a side. Anyone can have an opinion, however to make a wise, educated stand on any subject, the person deciding where to stand would make the best decision if they have a personal connection to the topic.