Today was to be my due date.
The day I would become a mother.
They day we would become a family.
I’m so sorry that I will never meet my sweet baby girl, or see her face, or hear her laughter, or teach her about the world an all the beautiful things in it. I’m sorry that all my hopes and dreams for her will never be realized. I’m sorry that we only had 8 short weeks together — I wish it had been so much more.
I will never forget seeing her heartbeat for the first time and knowing that I was carrying a life that was so very wanted and loved. It was nothing but joy, pure and unspeakable.
Not a day will go by that I won’t think of her, and of all that could have been, and of all that will never be.
In a secret and broken place in my heart, I will always wonder…
between the sacred and profane
nobody hears me chant your name
another year has gone again
and i will never be the same.
it was one of those days that never really ends; there were no goodbyes. i remember the fog and the ice and the road leading me south. and that is about as far down the path as we can go together. unless, of course, you’ve already been there yourself.
sometimes the only way to tell a story is to not tell it at all.
as this year draws to a close, i resolve to take a few moments to myself and just be here, in this moment.
i’m going to breathe deeply and savor every breath.
i’m going to be thankful for the people and things that surround me.
i’m going to love myself and all my imperfections.
and then i’m going to close my eyes and surrender to the passing of time, to the closing of a year.
goodbye 2015. i was here.
december is always a bittersweet month for me. i find myself struggling to tie up all the loose ends before closing out the year and moving on to the next. it’s a time for reflection and inventory and a sprinkling of hope that the next year might be at least as good as this one.
the days between christmas and new years are the worst — curiously anticlimactic and yet oddly anticipatory. everyone seems to breeze through the days at a hurried pace, rushing to get to the new year — there, everything will be shiny and fresh and untouched; there, we can start again, with a spring in our step and a freshly cleansed palate.
and there, we realize, as we have before, that the new year is really just like the old one — that nothing is ever erased or forgotten; that we are the sum of all our days, no matter how important or ordinary.
i have trouble with these in-between days — something always feels a bit off, and i’m coming to understand that it’s because i’m expecting something from the new year that i know will never really come. so i try to find some balance in the mix, to temper the lows with the highs, the goodbyes with the hellos, and the introspection with a little reckless abandon.
this december is no different. sure, there is work to be done, there are goodbyes to be said, and there are resolutions to be reached, but the wheels are already turning. the annual cleanse is beginning and i know that there are always a few golden moments of peace waiting for me just before the dawn.
In bed with new slippers and a new book. I think all the answers I need are on these pages — at least I hope so. Mary Oliver never disappoints. Feeling all the sad feelings today, despite a beautifully joyous Christmas yesterday. Infertility and babyloss are the hardest, even at the best of times.