Today is hard.
One year ago today, we learned that we’d lost our first baby – just shy of 12 weeks along. A blink of the eye in the span of a lifetime, but those 12 weeks overflowed with excitement, anticipation, hope and unsurpassable love.
It all crashed around us on January 29, 2017. We walked into the emergency room at 4p hoping everything would be okay. And we left at 8p knowing it wouldn’t.
I knew this day was coming, and didn’t really need to mark it on the calendar because it’s etched on my heart. I thought about what I could do to commemorate, to remember. Something small and simple to mark the day and acknowledge we haven’t forgotten.
This morning, I lit a candle in his or her memory. Fig + Vanilla. My favorite scent. One that permeates my memories of last winter and the ways we made our home as comfortable and cozy as we could, then bundled up against each other and tried to heal.
The past 365 days have been filled with a startling array of emotions. For the first few weeks, I couldn’t imagine not feeling shattered. I couldn’t figure out how to put myself together again – or if I even wanted to just yet. Feeling that grief fully seemed like the only way to hold on, for what we were going though to be real. Over the last several months, a counselor has helped me unearth ways to remember that tiny peanut, and to feel that crushing space in my chest lighten and the pain subside.
We planted a tree with tiny heart-shaped leaves in our backyard in August, the week of our due date. Something we can watch grow and change year after year. Something to carry the memory so its weight didn’t feel so heavy. Before the leaves fell away in October, we pressed one to keep in our new nursery, so we can remember and celebrate his or her life along with the little boy we’re expecting in just 7 weeks.
Sharing our story late last year, and continuing to process how I’m feeling through writing, lifted something inside me. Though today feels heavy and sad, I know everything will be OK.
Many of you reached out after I shared our miscarriage story – with stories of your own loss and heartache, with guidance and hope for what’s to come. You opened your hearts so readily and allowed the space for this story to breathe and live. You gave me the opportunity to let go of something I’d been holding onto so tightly I felt like it might swallow me whole. And for that I’m forever grateful.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you.