The Worst Day of my Life

 I was ten weeks pregnant.

The doctor had a handheld ultrasound machine and was checking the baby...  No heartbeat.

She asked who was there with me.

No one.

She sent me to ultrasound.

I was surrounded by happy couples, excitedly waiting to see their babies.

I tried to hide my tears with my sweater.

I knew.

I drove home weeping.

I told my husband. He wept. We told our children. They wept.

Over a month later, grief continues to wash over me like an overwhelming, unexpected, uncontrollable wave, taking me under, leaving me gasping for air.

I hate this. 

I miss my baby. My very prayed for, hoped for, very loved baby. The baby I won't hold until heaven. 

It's okay to grieve. I know it probably makes you feel uncomfortable. That's okay, too. 

To anyone who's lost a child, I'm so sincerely sorry.  My heart is broken for you...

For anyone who's been through this more than once... I literally have no words, only tears. 

As a child, I was taught to hide my pain.  When my parent's marriage was disintegrating, we were to tell NO ONE for the first year. I became very good at pulling myself together even when everything was falling apart. 

This "habit" has carried on into adulthood. Though I do try to live an authentic life, it doesn't come naturally to me, especially when life is painful. 

Now, my grief and pain are so deep I can't hide it.  It's difficult, awkward, and frankly, terrifying for me to live in such constant rawness and vulnerability. 

You don't have to keep your good news from me...  I can be happy for you and sad for me at the exact same time. But please continue to acknowledge my pain. I'm not willing or even capable of pretending that it's not there.

This is the only picture I'll ever have of my third child. It's now framed and in my living room. We love you, Little One...