Here we are – another year, another birthday without a child here to celebrate.
I wrote last year that I just don’t want to do this anymore. And it’s true, I don’t. But I also can’t stop myself from remembering these days and feeling compelled to do (or write) something special.
The thing is, I don’t know what to say.
I’ve spent the last two days trying to think of something sentimental or clever or wise but it’s just not coming to me. To be honest, I haven’t even been emotional today which is unlike me. It’s not that I don’t care, because I do. But somehow it feels as though my feelings and thoughts have just been drained from my body.
The baby that was due on March 12, 2018, was my fourth, the one sandwiched in between my 2 healthy, living kids. The one we lost so early on at just 6.5 weeks. The one we never learned anything about. And while perhaps it seems that the brevity of that life is the reason I feel disconnected, I truly don’t think it is. The loss hurt as deeply as the others and that child is mine the same way they all are.
This blankness might just be a way of finally shutting down. Maybe, after 6 years, I’ve run out of things to say. I no longer feel the extreme emotions the way I did years ago, when it was sometimes a struggle to get through the day or to deal with the thoughts swirling in my head.
Maybe I am finally at peace. To my baby, happy birthday. I miss you.