Ten days from now is my due date. (Was my due date? I suppose past tense is more appropriate.)
I keep thinking, If I can just get through it… Once February 11 is in the past, things will get better… easier.
The passage of time dulls grief, that I know for certain. But my grief is complex. All grief is, but what I’m referring to is the grief over not only the loss of my baby, but the how and the why, plus the grief over the loss of the family I had hoped we would have.
Every day, when I drop my daughter off at daycare, I see her interact with the other kids. For a few brief (but heartbreaking) moments, I watch her sit patiently as one of the younger girls “helps” my daughter take off her coat and boots. I see her make silly faces at one of the babies, and gently replace a pacifier like a pro, while I talk to the daycare provider. I’m barely holding back tears as I slip out the door to go to work. C would have made a wonderful older sister. Being an “only” will be great, too, I know – and C will never know any different – but it breaks my heart that she won’t get to be a sister.
While I have never for one moment regretted our decision to terminate the pregnancy, and even though I was treated with such care and compassion during the procedures, it remains a traumatic experience. And I still can’t get over the why. Why did this happen? I was on 2mg of folic acid, five times the normal recommendation for a pregnant person, and the exact same amount I took while pregnant with C. Why wasn’t that enough this time?
I’m holding on to a lot of shit. Shit that I can’t control. Shit that is irrelevant now. I’ve been holding on to the illusion that once my due date is in the past, all of that shit will dissipate, like magic. But that’s stupid. It’s not a magical date, and the universe just doesn’t work that way. I wish it did. I wish we didn’t have to do so much goddamn work to deal with our grief.