Warning, this has nothing to do with education and everything to do with that which makes us humans. It has to do with what shapes us, those life experiences that continue to haunt and fold our lives even long after they happened. It may be too personal for some, but I share the story nonetheless so that others may feel less alone.
Yesterday, you would have been a year. I am the only that knows that as others have moved on, away from the tragedy that is a pregnancy lost. That child of ours, a year full of firsts again, of sleepless nights, of crying fits, of moments captured by cameras and film. A year we never got.
And so I grieve privately. The world would not have known that yesterday was the day we should have welcomed you one year ago, celebrated the miracle that would have been you. I carried on, smiled over all of the blessings I do have, and I hugged Thea just a little bit more, knowing what a fine sister she would have been. They say that losing a child is the most awful thing that can happen to you. I never lost a child but I have lost the dream that becomes a child. And yet the grief you feel over a miscarriage numbs you, changes you, while the world turns and continues. It is so private, so hidden, particularly when it happens early, that you do not know what to do with your raw emotions, who to share it with, who to cry with. And so us mothers to be, who lose the baby, move on as if nothing happened. As if those days where we remember mean nothing special. As if our grief has melted away along with the memory of what could have been.
And yet, I carry it with me. I no longer cry, but I wonder what you would have been. I wonder what our family would feel like? How much more love there would be in this home? We are doing fine, life treats us with kindness, and yet, I wonder about you. Those dreams of you and what to do with them. Yesterday you would have been a year, and instead there is nothing. So this is to all those should-be mothers out there who have not forgotten, you are not alone, we remember together.
Yesterday, you would have been a year. I am the only that knows that as others have moved on, away from the tragedy that is a pregnancy lost. That child of ours, a year full of firsts again, of sleepless nights, of crying fits, of moments captured by cameras and film. A year we never got.
And so I grieve privately. The world would not have known that yesterday was the day we should have welcomed you one year ago, celebrated the miracle that would have been you. I carried on, smiled over all of the blessings I do have, and I hugged Thea just a little bit more, knowing what a fine sister she would have been. They say that losing a child is the most awful thing that can happen to you. I never lost a child but I have lost the dream that becomes a child. And yet the grief you feel over a miscarriage numbs you, changes you, while the world turns and continues. It is so private, so hidden, particularly when it happens early, that you do not know what to do with your raw emotions, who to share it with, who to cry with. And so us mothers to be, who lose the baby, move on as if nothing happened. As if those days where we remember mean nothing special. As if our grief has melted away along with the memory of what could have been.
And yet, I carry it with me. I no longer cry, but I wonder what you would have been. I wonder what our family would feel like? How much more love there would be in this home? We are doing fine, life treats us with kindness, and yet, I wonder about you. Those dreams of you and what to do with them. Yesterday you would have been a year, and instead there is nothing. So this is to all those should-be mothers out there who have not forgotten, you are not alone, we remember together.
