Today. May 8. It was to be my first due date.
I remember having that lunch outside. It was summer and sunny. We decided we were ready. Ready to try. This decision brought smiles to our faces.
And we tried. And before I knew it I was in my little bathroom staring at a stick of plastic and a plus sign. It was too good to be true. And it was.
I called my doctor. Made an appointment. In we waltzed, all youthful bluster and optimism. On the tiny screen, we saw a tiny flicker. The heart beat. May 8, she said.
Four weeks later, and we were back. In the waiting room, we talked baby names and crib colors. That little room again. That little screen. This time, no movement. No life.
I am so sorry, she said.
Six years later. I am here. Here in the folds of my good life with my three little girls, creatures who delight me and drain me. Creatures whom I do not take for granted. Not for one minute.
Especially on this day.
Even though it happened a while ago and I truly feel like I have moved on, I feel strongly about writing about this experience because I now knowso many peoplewho have suffered, and struggled through, similar losses. I think there is a tremendous power inherent in sharing these stories.
I am linking up today with several wonderful writers over at The Extraordinary Ordinary’s Just Write.
Has it been easy or hard for you to build your family? Have you suffered any losses or setbacks in your efforts to have children? Why do you think people are so hesitant to talk about these things even though these stories are so unbelievably common?