I came across www.donttalkaboutthebaby.com and #aboutthebaby a few mornings ago, and it got me thinking.
Late in August of 2014, my then-boyfriend Chris and I found out we were expecting. We were blown away and scared as fuck, and generally running around like chickens with our heads cut off, but we were excited. We were happy.
We spent the next weeks planning, talking about where our future should go. How we had put off a real relationship for 16 years, and how this was the sign we finally needed to move forward with that. How we would become a family with my two other children, and how this was what we had both longed for for such a great period of time. And, most importantly, how foolish we both were for thinking that we would find this happiness in others.
October 7th dawned bloody and crampy and devastating. I went home empty, when I was once a sacred vessel that housed what was supposed to go on to be a life that shared the best of both of us. The devastation was tremendous. I won't talk about how I coped --- or, rather, how I didn't cope. That's a side of myself many of you can guess at but have no confirmation of, and I'm not ready to provide it.
Chris was my rock, but his devastation was tremendous, as well. However, it is his own, and it is not mine to tell you about.
As my body recovered from the loss and my mind and heart cracked further, a sneaking suspicion overtook me. I woke up one morning and could smell the neighbor's breakfast.
Sure enough, there were two lines, there was a digital "pregnant," there was confirmation after confirmation. This was October 30th. Not a full month later. Not a period between the two. This wee bit of life was delivered on the wings of the one that left us far too soon.
Chris and I again mustered our combined faith and considered this a sign that things were truly meant to be. Our family was meant to soldier on through the hard times and the easy ones. We had finally come home to each other.
We weren't out of the woods yet. Another three weeks, another morning woken with blood and pain and heartache. Only, there was still hope. There was still a small miracle in there, fighting the entire time. Our son, born on June 24th, 2015, who we joyously named Felix, had a twin who was not meant to be. But Felix was strong enough to go on for both of them. He hung out through the thick and the thin of the perilous nine months to come.
I miss my angels, I won’t lie. I refer often to only one of them, but I never forget there are two. Someday, maybe I'll see them when this life comes to a close and a new chapter in our universal existence begins. Until then, my little loves, fly high and free for mommy. Fly on the currents of my love, and know that you will always be cherished. And for the other loss mothers out there reading my words, take heart. We will encounter them again either in this life, as they are brought back to us at a time when they are better suited for this world, or again in the next, when none of us are plagued by heartache and pain.