May 1st is a difficult day for me. I can see it on the calendar any other day of the year and I'm okay, but on the day itself I struggle.
When I realize the day has come upon us, I feel the familiar burn of tears.
Throughout the day whenever I glance upon some reminder of the calendar my throat tightens and I momentarily lose track of my thought.
I see bits and pieces of that day interspersed in everything I do: telling C we needed to go to the hospital, the sterile smell of the hospital as we were taken back to an exam room, fighting over the insertion of a catheter for an ultrasound, the stupid layout of the ultrasound room, listening to the deadening click of the computer as the tech measured what he saw, watching the room blur as the doctor confirmed that I was measuring 3 weeks behind and maybe I had my dates wrong, riding home in silence, and lastly collapsing on the kitchen floor in sobs harder than I'd ever experienced as we listened to the message the doctor had left before we got home, confirming the miscarriage.
It hurts, still. More than I thought it would. After 4 years I guess I thought the pain would fade more than it has. On the surface, everything looks fine, it looks completely healed. As you peel back the healthy layers a wound lies deep below. Deep below what everyone can see on a daily basis; only noticeable when something strikes the area just perfectly.
I know that we wouldn't have KT if that pregnancy had been viable (or the one after it, for that matter). But even a beautiful daughter can't take the hurt away completely.
When I realize the day has come upon us, I feel the familiar burn of tears.
Throughout the day whenever I glance upon some reminder of the calendar my throat tightens and I momentarily lose track of my thought.
I see bits and pieces of that day interspersed in everything I do: telling C we needed to go to the hospital, the sterile smell of the hospital as we were taken back to an exam room, fighting over the insertion of a catheter for an ultrasound, the stupid layout of the ultrasound room, listening to the deadening click of the computer as the tech measured what he saw, watching the room blur as the doctor confirmed that I was measuring 3 weeks behind and maybe I had my dates wrong, riding home in silence, and lastly collapsing on the kitchen floor in sobs harder than I'd ever experienced as we listened to the message the doctor had left before we got home, confirming the miscarriage.
It hurts, still. More than I thought it would. After 4 years I guess I thought the pain would fade more than it has. On the surface, everything looks fine, it looks completely healed. As you peel back the healthy layers a wound lies deep below. Deep below what everyone can see on a daily basis; only noticeable when something strikes the area just perfectly.
I know that we wouldn't have KT if that pregnancy had been viable (or the one after it, for that matter). But even a beautiful daughter can't take the hurt away completely.
10 comments:
((HUGS)) Just sending you some hugs.
(((Hugs)))
Those anniversaries are the hardest... (HUGS)
Is it bad that I blocked out my dates? The whole ride sucks.
I'm sorry I didn't read this earlier so that when I saw you I could have given you a bigger hug. I'll have to do that next time.
I have learned that NOTHING will ever take that pain away. A few years back after my m/c I remember you saying how it would never feel completely okay. Even though it sounds weird it was so consoling to know that you got it. It wasn't something I would quickly get over and rebound from. It will always be there. I hope (like for me) it serves as a reminder to truly count each and every blessing each day. Sending you hugs to get through this awful anniversary. I'm so sorry you had to go through something so painful.
Thank you for sharing that. I appreciate that we remember our little ones that we lost.
I'm sorry you had to experience that.
We are the ones who remember when no one else does. When everyone else thinks we should be past it and over it, we are the ones who never let the memories of what should have been leave.
Many gentle hugs.
Shan
hugs and kisses from me, too!
the date you find out or that it happens and the EDD - i can't forget either.
i'm sorry that you wound came open.
:( I'm so sorry. (sorry I'm late too.)
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