About this time three years ago I was told after three Dr, positive pregnancy test that I was no longer pregnant. Although it was only considered a chemical pregnancy it hit me like a bag of bricks and to this day I am not over it. When it pops up in my mind I am still very much hurt. For two weeks that pregnancy was celebrated. My family is just now really finding out about this. I couldn’t talk about before. It hurt, who am I kidding? It still hurts. I find it slipping into to conversations. Like the ones where you share how you told your husband. I remember the day like it was yesterday. It was hot and I was outside since I was over at Mark’s parents house, I didn’t want anyone to hear our little secret. There was joy in Mark’s voice. Over the next two weeks there was much excitement, I smiled at every chance just knowing that after a year and half my child was finally coming home and would be there in just 8months. I register for the week by week websites and read all I could about the baby in my womb. For two weeks there was joy.
It’s funny, as much as I remember that first day I found out the day that haunts me is the day I found I wasn’t. I remember the cheerfulness in my doctors voice and he soccer punched me in the gut with one little sentence. “Congratulations! You are not pregnant” my without finding my voice just breathing faster and harder on the other end. The doctor still with a cheerful voice, “it was probably a chemical pregnancy or a miscarriage; call me when you are pregnant” It’s funny to me how when I picked up the phone with so much joy I hung it up with so much sorrow and sadness. I called my hubby and I couldn’t get the words out. Somehow he understood. We went out to lunch together and held hands, looked at each other without our joy we had had for two weeks. I went home and cried. Then I picked myself up.
Once a year though I remember our joy and our heart ache. I wonder as the years have passed on why can’t I think about this lost without tearing up? Why do I allow it to haunt me? I wish I had the answer. I feel as though I missing a child. That when we sit down to eat; a chair that should be filled isn’t. I feel as though I must keep fighting for that joy, I felt for those two weeks. Then I realize how messed up I am. Why am I grieving this? Many have gone through a lot worse and seem to have it all together? I can’t hide that facts that in my private moments I wonder, I cry , I have love, I have pain for the child I never had.
Quote of the day:
“As I contemplate all that you face in the world today, one word comes to my mind. It describes an attribute needed by all of us but one which you—at this time of your life and in this world–will need particularly. That attribute is courage."
Thomas S. Monson, May You Have Courage, Ensign, May 2009, 124
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