The Winter of '75: A Second Chance at Life

Summary

In December 1975, I had a miscarriage at the military base hospital.

When the nurse came out to find my husband, Arthur, to sign the paperwork, he was crouching at the end of the hallway, gripping the payphone.

"Clara, please don't cry. I'll figure out the money for the baby formula..."

After he finally signed my papers, he barely glanced at me.

"Hazel, just hold on for a bit. Clara's kid is sick."

And then, he left.

I lay on the hard wooden bench in the corridor all night long. What I eventually got was a freezing, congealed bowl of cafeteria macaroni.

I didn't cry.