Today is May 2nd, and I must awake this morning and face the fact that one of my children was due today, two years ago.
I don’t know if my baby was a boy or a girl. We named him August, because he lived and died entirely in the month of August, 2014.
I remember the positive pregnancy test.
I remember taking that first “bump” picture, to remember what I looked like before I got all fat and stuff.
I remember going to the bathroom and seeing pink on the toilet paper.
I gasped. I thought, “No… no…”
Immediately, I knew it was over. I wasn’t pregnant anymore. But, I didn’t want to face it. I still hoped, but the blood kept coming. By the next day I was laboring–not cramping. By the next day, my baby’s body passed outside of me.
He was so tiny–still in the amniotic sac… just a little white creature in a balloon of red. There was the tiny pinprick of an eye forming on the side of his head that I could see, and perhaps the very first formations of limbs.
Miscarriage, unfortunately, isn’t that uncommon. If you’ve had one, or if you’re having one, you are not alone. I know this truth doesn’t help the pain, hurt, and sadness, but it is true.
It’s a sad truth–one of the sadder ones.
October is the month of Awareness of Pregnancy and Infant Loss, but May and August will always be big reminders for me.
One day, my kids will know about their lost brother or sister. The pregnancy was too early–we hadn’t told them yet. They were so young, we decided not to tell them. Not then.
But one day, we will.
We miss you, kiddo.