It's been 12 years. 12 years since my miscarriage and I still hold this day close to my heart. I hold it, without an reminder on my phone, without anyone else telling me, it's a day I never forget.
I have a box that I keep memories about my 12 week pregnancy. In it, a little lamb, the announcement of my pregnancy and emails about our bad news. I read them again today, and in all honesty I am grateful. I am grateful for the replies. Messages of warmth, messages of condolence and love, and messages reaffirming my strength. On a day where I could sit in sadness for what never was, I sit in gratitude about what is.
I am grateful that this experience happened to me, what it put me through, and how this little soul taught me such huge life lessons.
I am grateful for the deep sadness and anger I went through and the struggles I face when trying to conceive our next child.
I am grateful for being reminded of my husband's strength to not only loose the same baby, but to support me through my emotional and physical pain of an empty womb.
I am grateful for the acknowledgement I have received over the years that my baby did exist, and that people care about that little person.
I am grateful that my children now talk about the baby that came before them.
I am grateful for the time I get to reflect on how I have grown, who I have become and what motherhood means to me.
12 years seems like a lifetime ago, and if I had read this then, I may have not wanted to hear my own word. I just sit here knowing that the pain which seemed to encompass my whole world hasn't changed in size, but that I, as a woman, mother, and wife have grown so much and the pain has transformed to gratitude, acceptance and love