I am a big fan of the spring season. When the weather changes, the snow starts to melt, and the days are spent with umbrellas during the day and calming thunderstorms at night. I feel happier.
However, when April hits, I have a shadow over my head. Even 5 years later, April 24th holds a place in my heart that I wish could feel as happy as the springtime season.
I’ve had many miscarriages over the past 8 years, but one in particular stands out to me — not because I feel it was more important, or more painful, but it definitely hit me harder.
On April 24th, my son was “born.” He had already passed away in my womb at only 13 weeks gestation, but on that date he was separated from me and as this date approaches, I feel like I am transported right back to the day.
I wrote about his “birth” story. He wasn’t alive, I wasn’t awake, and to the medical field he was a “failed pregnancy,” a “miscarriage,” but he was much more to me and my husband.
With less than a week until that date arrives, it’s common for me to have thoughts of him a lot. This date is sort of like the culmination for all my losses and it’s hard for me to ignore. And I don’t want to ignore it, so as that date draws near, I need a reminder to be kinder to myself. To not push those “ugly” feelings of grief aside and to lean on those who understand, who love me through them all.
If you’ve not been through perinatal loss, it may be difficult to understand. If you have been through it, you likely understand what a silently painful day it is and will be for me.
Photo credit: Devan McGuinness
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