It’s weird how things sneak up on you.
I was laying in bed with Miss E last night, talking about our cats. Schubert jumped up to cuddle with us and she asked me how old he was. I had to think a moment to remember that he’s 10…and then it hit me, like a brick to the face.
Ten years old.
We got our cats in February of 2007, the month our first baby would have been born…the baby we lost. If that baby had been born, I’d have a ten year old child.
I don’t think about it much anymore, my miscarriages…maybe once or twice a year in moments like this. I get a quick reminder of the trials and tribulations that took place when we tried to start our family. A flash of heartache. A shadow of what might have been, rushing by before I can get a true glimpse at it.
It’s what was supposed to happen. In hindsight, I can see it, plain as day. Something was wrong. I knew it then, as painful as it was and I know it now. Besides, had that child been born, there may not be the children I hug and kiss at bedtime now. The life I currently have might be drastically different.
Grief is weird. It lurks in a corner and surprises you when you least expect it. It’s messy and confusing, especially when the thing you grieve was merely a hint at possibility.
I am so grateful for the family I have. I realize how fortunate I am to have gone on to carry and birth two beautiful, healthy children. We walked a rocky path to get here, but it was worth every stumble, every heartache, every tear that fell.
But a part of me will always wonder what that child would have been like. Would they have been athletic and funny like their brother? Would they be dramatic and sensitive like their sister?
I’ll never have the answers to those questions. And I’m okay with that.
But those babies live in my heart.
They always will.