Today was supposed to be a very happy day. Today is your daddy's birthday. Today you would have been 12 weeks. Today we planned to have dinner with our closest friends and tell them all about you and how excited we were to meet you.
Today it is one month since we found out you were gone. November 11 is Remembrance Day, and when we scheduled your ultrasound for that day, a little voice in the back of my head said it wasn't a good idea. But you were already gone when we showed up at the doctor's office that morning. You had already left us. 11/11 is just a series of perfectly symmetrical numbers that don't point to anything, in the end.
I still cry every day, because I wish you were here with me so badly. I wish you were snuggled inside me, growing strong and healthy and getting ready to meet all the wonderful people out here who would love you so much, your daddy and me most of all.
I still talk to you every day, too. Sometimes outloud and sometimes in the quiet space inside my head. I don't know if it's you I talk to when I tell you how sad or how angry I am that you were taken from us. It could be you, the spark or soul within that heart that beat with life--that did beat with life, no matter how briefly. It could be God, or myself, or some dream vision of the future baby I hope I have, that I sometimes think you will become. It could be no one at all.
I miss you. I love you.
I'm back, and it's hopefully not a once-off!!
2 months ago