What can I say about life…for one thing it is precious. I don’t take creating life lightly. The thought of having children at a young age was terrifying so I took precautions, and decided in my late twenties that I was mostly(ish) ready. Every child I have are intentionally and unconditionally wanted.

But not all of my children are with me physically on this earth. That pill is challenging to swallow on days where I am ok.

My children are my world created with intent so out-living them and grieving for all that cannot be has caused me to pause. I stopped writing my feelings and thoughts, but I certainly didn’t stop feeling them. I stopped exercising. I stayed home.

Spring 2020 unearthed buried grief and depression along with a global pandemic. My girls first birthday in heaven in May was subconsciously enveloped in sadness that carried itself into the summer.

In July I decided I was ready to try again for another baby. We were excited and hesitant to see a positive pregnancy test the following month. We told no one at first, and after several weeks we told two people. After what happened with our last pregnancy we were incredibly hesitant to tell anyone. The first 12 weeks are critical, and miscarriage is more likely in that gestational period.

I took life easy (as one does in a pandemic with carried over grief from a previous traumatic pregnancy). I stayed home, looked after myself and family, played animal crossing. The kind of self care that I never allowed myself to receive before the passing of my girls.

That pregnancy test is still in my medicine cabinet. I can’t seem to throw it out.

My first doctor’s appointment at 7 weeks gestation was routine and the heartbeat was strong. We were relieved and felt true joy for the first time in awhile. Given what happened with my second pregnancy my doctor wanted to see me again at 10 weeks.

You never forget the moment when your doctor says your baby has no heartbeat.

I sat with that knowledge alone for several minutes. That moment of time lives in my periphery; always there in my mind but slightly out of my vision, yet always lingering. The devastation lodged itself in my chest and my brain just couldn’t fathom what was happening. To protect my husband I didn’t tell him what the doctor said, who spoke very low and only to me, in case he was wrong.

The vaginal ultrasound proved our very worst of fears. The baby measured 8.5 weeks instead of 10, and still no heartbeat. No movement.

And yet….

It seems as if somehow I already knew. I wanted this baby with all of my being, but I just had this feeling.

As if things were going too smoothly. Something just had to be wrong even though this time around I should have zero complications.

Decisions needed to be made quickly on how to proceed. An all too familiar approach.

The courage I built up in order to bring another life into this world was now crumbling into dust and floating away on the breeze.

And now I have to learn how to let go.

Again.

Join me on my path back to hope~