Apparently, it was only for eight weeks. Well, eight or ten, I’m not sure.

That said, it was back on Monday, almost two weeks ago, when the doctor scanned me, and as she put down the scanner stick, she looked at me with such a look — a look that somehow my gut was already telling me that yes, I knew it, too — and with a really low voice, almost a whisper, said, “I’m so sorry.”

I could understand her sorrow, and at the same time, I knew. With my previous pregnancies, even when the pregnancy was as young as 5 weeks old, I could always sense that something was there, something alive, with a heartbeat. With this little one, for some reason, I could sense they left with a faint good-bye as my body decided not to continue the process.

In Islam, it is believed that the souls of children who have passed away are taken care of in the High Heavens by Prophet Ibrahim AS (Abraham) and his wife, Siti Hajar. I’m not sure if this little one is there, but I would love to think that way. Perhaps they are there, perhaps they are not.

Thank you, Little One.