Last year, today, was one of the happiest days of my life. Jason and I were on a mini-vacation in the mountains of Tennessee, and we found out that we were pregnant. It was a complete shock to us both. We’d already been trying for a few years, to no avail. After being diagnosed with PCOS and working hard to do all of the practical things that I could to take better care of my body, it finally happened. Every early pregnancy discomfort was the greatest joy I had ever experienced. The nausea, sore boobs, my food aversions (particularly chocolate and eggs), the tiredness, all of it. Beautiful.
Today, I am sad. I am mourning. I’m empty handed and heavy hearted. This is where I am, today. I have been pregnant twice after this loss. The second’s due date was my birthday this year. There really is no way to full describe how much this hurts, especially after such a long journey. I’m having such a difficult time emotionally because I’m trying to find healthy ways of protecting my heart, but still be in a society filled with big bellies and babies, to not allow bitterness to interfere with the parts of my heart that is so incredibly happy for the blessings of others. This balance is very difficult to maintain, without completely ignoring my own feelings and needs. Some people may never understand the plight of a woman or family that is dealing with fertility issues, and that is perfectly okay. If you’re a person that doesn’t understand and you really care to, ask. Ask how you can help. Ask if you can pray.
No matter how far in time i’m removed from these memories, it will still have a prick in my heart. They were lives that I prayed so hard for, that I would have moved mountains to have. Yet today, I sit here, empty handed and heavy hearted, holding the onesie we purchased in Gatlinburg to remind us of the day we found out that we would finally be parents.
The good thing is, there is a tomorrow. Tomorrow doesn’t make it hurt any less, but it provides me with hope for the future. Jason and I have been incredibly blessed with people that love and support us, from all walks of life. We know that we will hold our children one day. We are in grateful anticipation for the first ultrasound, hearing the heartbeat, and watching that first breath. I look forward to the day that I can tell them about all of the people that prayed, contributed, and anticipated their arrival with us.
But, for today, I will sit here, empty handed and heavy hearted for the 3 precious beings that I am so tenderly missing.
2 thoughts on “This Time, Then”
There are no words to express my sympathy. I am so sorry for your losses. No one should ever have to endure that much heartbreak.
* Hug *