Sometimes, in the depth of my grief and heartache, it feels like my pregnancy was the world's cruelest joke. As if the entire 9 months of bliss were given to me only to be violently ripped away at the last minute. We were so close to bringing her home. Then this evil joke decided it had run its course, leaving me wounded to the brink of destruction. All the excitement, all the anticipation, all the joy; was it real or just a dream? How do I make sense of grieving something that never was?
But then I remember, she was here.
She was here at 4am that cold January morning when I half laughed, half cried from the bathroom, shouting for Dan to come to my side. With two pink lines, she was here.
She was here with every kick, squirm, and stretch. Each movement she made brought a warmth to my heart that could only be because she was here.
She was here when we held her in our arms on her birthday. Already gone, but still she was here.
And now, she is here. In my heart, in the profound love I have for my husband, in the hope I have for living children, in my soul. She is here.
My pregnancy wasn't a cruel joke. It was real. It was perfect. It was the happiest time of my life. Even though she is gone, she was here. She is here.