April 21st, 2024. A date I've tried valiantly to forget, that my heart won't allow me to.
In a perfect world, I'd be 39 weeks pregnant right now: preparing for birth, eager to meet my baby. But it's a broken world; and instead, I find myself with an empty womb and a hurting heart. What should've been a week of joyful anticipation, is instead a week of mourning my child, and reflecting on the, "should've haves." I want to honor my baby, but I don't know how. I have nothing to commemorate them, except the hurt inside and an ornament in a storage bin. The day that should've been their due date, will go unnoticed and forgotten by everyone... but me. I will remember. I have to remember. The memory of what should've been their day is all I have left.
Baby August was almost the best surprise of our lives. An unexpected- but most welcome, gift. Now, he/she will live on in my memory, the hurt keeping them close. While I grieve the could haves and the missed memories, I'll forever be thankful to have the knowledge that they existed. I'll cherish their memory, and cling to the hope that one day, I'll hold them in my arms before the Savior.
