My computer is nearing the end of its life, so I've been going through old photos, backing them up and pruning them in an effort to clear some space on my hard drive.
I'm usually the one behind the camera, so there aren't very many photos of myself. The most recent ones I found were from Darian's birthday, back in July.
Two months before the BFP. Three months before the miscarriage.
I couldn't help but reflect on what my life looked like just those three short months ago. I realized that this was the smile of someone who had never experienced a loss.
But it was also the smile of someone who didn't realize how much she could love a child she had never known.
For the first few days, I thought I was only grieving the loss of the hopes and dreams of what this baby could have become. I mean, I had never known the baby as a person; I hadn't even felt pregnant.
But then, a couple of days later, I started talking to him. "I'm sorry that I couldn't carry you," I said. "I'm sorry that you never even got have to heartbeat." I ached for my child, who would never get to know his big brother, or see daylight, or learn to walk. I ached for him, because I loved him, and I missed him.
I honestly did not know I was capable of this. I don't know if it makes me sound like a terrible mother. But how can you really know how you feel about someone you've never met?
This has been a terribly painful experience so far, but I think/hope that I will emerge a better person for it.