My pregnancy with M couldn't have been less eventful. No major complications, some heartburn, minor ligament pain and cravings, and that was about it. Labor and delivery was practically textbook. My water broke at home 3 days before her due date and M was born in the hospital 9 1/2 hours later. We were sent home on our 2 year anniversary. We had always intended for our family to grow. We wanted at least one more biological child. So we were thrilled to find out we were pregnant again just days after M's 3rd birthday. Our new baby was due April 30, 2015, right between J's and my mothers' birthdays. What a joy-filled spring we had planned. I was more nauseous than with M, but still, the pregnancy was going smoothly. At 9 weeks, J and I went for the first ultrasound. There was our sweet baby, strong heartbeat. J looked at me and said "The baby is waving its arms like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow man from Ghostbusters." And so, we nicknamed the baby "Puff." We told my parents when we went down to visit for my grandmother's funeral. The news brought so much hope as we grieved.
But...one year ago today, my world stopped and then shattered. It was supposed to be a routine visit, 19 weeks. The gender/anatomy scan was supposed to be just over a week later, when my parents would be in town for Christmas. But the nurse couldn't find a heartbeat. Then the doctor couldn't find a heartbeat. Then the ultrasound technician confirmed my nightmare. I heard the words no Mama should ever hear..."I'm so sorry...there is no heartbeat. Your baby is gone." I will never forget seeing his perfect face, those chubby cheeks on the ultrasound. I will never forget sitting in the chairs while various people tried to find my baby's heartbeat, tears rolling down my face, fear gripping my heart. I will never forget calling my husband and mother, to tell them that our sweet baby had died. I will never forget sitting in a room at my doctor's office (yes, the room with the scratchy tissues, for those who know the story) waiting for J to arrive. I will never forget sitting there, wondering how on earth to tell M that her sibling we all already loved so much had died. I will never forget the kindness of our friends, who had us over so we wouldn't be alone that evening. I will never put the pieces of my life back together because some of them are missing. I may never be whole, but I don't want to be.
That may sound strange, but the holes that should be filled by my sweet baby are holes I never want filled. Nothing in my life, no matter how good, and beautiful, and wonderful, can ever fill them. I want them there as a (sometimes bitter) sweet reminder of the joy and hope we felt, of our innocence. I will never stop loving my baby. I will never forget, and as long as I remember, I will long for what could have, should have, been. As long as I remember, the holes will always be there. In the past year, the grief has lost a good deal of its sharpness and edge. It doesn't cut as often, but it still cuts just as deeply. Not a day goes by that I don't think of all my babies, miss them, and wonder what life would be like. Nothing, not even a new baby, will fill the holes. While that is what we want and are working towards, we are under no illusions that all will be well and healed when we have a new baby.
So we walk this road and today, the road is a bit darker, a bit more shadowed, a bit more protected and sheltered. Today, I walk a little slower, a little more bent over. But still, I walk, ever forwards. Ever one day closer to seeing my beautiful children and holding them in my arms
