Riding the Wave

Sometimes I look at photos of my very pregnant friends and feel a particular kind of sadness. I mourn Haven, I mourn because our second baby never grew enough to round out my body, I mourn the innocence of pregnancy that is lost forever. Lately, I also grieve because I feel I may never get to feel that joy again. It was pure magic when Haven rolled and kicked inside me. I would laugh when she got the hiccups or tickled my cervix with her hand that was always at her cheek. My heart hurts when I think that I may never experience any of it again.

We wanted a big family; we'd talked so many times about having four kids. We even had names at one point! Neither of us could have imagined that we would be at this stage of life without living children and unsure whether we even can. 

It is a very strange thing to be a parent but not be able to participate in conversations about how to handle teething or diapers or the spacing I plan to have between my kids (hearing that particular conversation especially hurts). I don't know how it feels to have Haven's arms around my neck or to hear her say, "mama." I do have love in common with other parents, but that is about it. When Haven died, I immediately felt an otherness from other parents and other people in general. I wish I could say that the feeling goes away, but it doesn't. I have learned to cope better, but there are situations where I stand awkwardly at the sidelines feeling utterly useless.

Grief is close to the surface this week as we start to get our hopes up for yet another month. I'm riding the wave as I have learned to do. It gets harder and harder to keep trying.