Today was suppose to be the happiest day for me; it was suppose to be the day I announced your life.
Which won’t happen.
I have counted down to this day since I found out I was pregnant on November 12th. I stopped counting Sunday’s once it hit 12 weeks. There’s nothing left to countdown to.
I don’t even know why I’m blogging; I wanted to say something but now that I have this open I don’t know what to say — what would I say to you if you were still here? Would the things I want to say still apply? No, they wouldn’t.
I keep crying about the fact that you’re gone, that we never even got the chance to see you or hear your heartbeat. I mourn the fact that you were the easiest pregnancy I’ve had and I’m heartbroken to not be able to see what kind of person you ended up being. Or not seeing what you’d look like, or who you’d look like more.
I mourn the fact that me and you daddy spent months even before you were here talking about who you’d be, what you’d like. We talked about what would be the first book we’d read to you. What would be the first Disney movie we’d have you watch. What kind of Disney vacations we’d have with you. Holidays. Birthday’s. We talked about almost all of it. And when you got here we were so excited about you and we were so happy to have you here.
And it sucks that the choice to keep you sometimes isn’t up to us. That sometimes blessings don’t stay. Things and people we wait for get lost.
I’ll always mourn that you’re gone and I never even got to see you. Despite your daddy constantly reminding me you’re not gone — not even a little bit. He helps me keep the memory of you alive. I wish you could had met your daddy, he loved you long before you got here and he waited for you.
We’ll always miss you. Always. And we’ll always keep you with us. Always.
Loss is a part of life, blessings are too.
Physically I’m feeling a lot better, but at my last appointment they told me that a pregnancy test can still come up positive for up to a month after a miscarriage so I’ll have to go back next month to take a follow up test even though they tested the “clot” I had brought in and confirmed it did have traces of a fetus.
I hate that there’s no REAL reason why miscarriage happens, how I was so close to being able to announce my pregnancy and be out of the miscarriage woods. I. Was. So. Close. I know that even after the 12 weeks you’re still able to miscarry or lose the baby for various reasons and I never understood why TV and movies and thots down the street make it look SO easy to just pop out babies. Then there’s the rest of us who have to struggle and wonder and endure loss who actually want the kids. And it seems a little bit unfair. Almost cruel the universe would make something this heartbreaking possible. At any moment. When you least expect it almost.
I’m sad for the fact I lost her on Christmas. Literally ON Christmas. I’m sad for the panic I felt and had to set it aside because it was Christmas. I’m sad to everyone else she doesn’t even exist. It almost makes it feel like my pain and mourning shouldn’t exist. Suffering in silence is something I hate with a passion.
I’m sure as time goes I’ll come to terms with it a bit better and I know we’ll always keep her in our memory and in our thoughts.
Losing something that was literally a part of you and losing something you were literally caring for within yourself is such a hard loss to face and I suppose I never realized just how hard of a loss until we lost her. I always thought pregnancy was gross and I still do — the baby kicking part and all of that — but there’s also something incredibly magical and something about it that makes you feel the words “home” and “family” personified.
I’m lucky to have someone as positive and as strong and level headed as Bubba be her father and my partner in my life. I’m so lucky to have his endless support. He’s been my bubble and my rock since all of this happened and I know he will continue to be for as long as I need him to be and for as long as I need to mourn the loss of our baby.
We will be okay, we will heal and we will never forget her.