It’s 5:30 am. And for nearly the past year, Monday through Friday, I wake up as Sam gets ready for work. It’s a rare morning I’m able to get back to sleep, so while he showers I flip on my iPhone, read the news, check Twitter and Facebook, and scroll through my beloved Instagram.
It’s all to keep my mind busy. Letting it wander in the dark leads to anxiety and memories I don’t want to process yet again.
But lately – lately.
My little boy wakes up with me. Rolls and kicks. Thumps and punches. If him at nearly 23 weeks is any indication of what’s to come, we’re in for quite the ride with his activity level. I put my hands on my stomach and feel him move. Sam comes out and does the same, always shaking his head in amazement. Then he bends down and whisper yells into my stomach about wrestling matches in a few years.
I talk a lot on here about our loss. I compare this pregnancy with the twins. Their one year birth and death date is next week, and it’s hard at times not to dwell on what might have been. I know this. I’m working on it.
I also am proud of how far I’ve come. I’m proud that their lives will be a unique part of our family and history instead of being shut away because grief is uncomfortable and talking about your dead kids more than a few months is frowned on. I’m proud that I carry this sweet boy with me each day as a reminder of how I didn’t let fear win.
I’m proud that I can lay here and feel him move, right now, and there is a smile on my face and a peace in my heart. Still a sadness. Always. But more and more – a peace that interlinks with that.
This is my spot to often sort out the parts of my life I can’t figure out yet. Writing offers me a completely different way to process than anything else. Even therapy. I can write and heal by reading my own words, many times I don’t even know I’ve untangled a part of all this until I’m done and read it back. I always hoped this wouldn’t become a baby loss blog. Remember that? Oh, so quickly after they were gone I wrote that in terror that I wouldn’t heal. That I’d have to grieve.
And one year later. Here I am. Tried to adopt. Pregnant. 23 weeks. Homeschooling my daughter. Working. Getting ready to move. Back in the role of mom and wife. Planning for this baby as each day brings a fresh reminder that I made it. Not how I expected last year. But in a way that I hope all my children will be proud of.
I’m thankful for what I have and I forget to say that. My days are spent happy with a healthy mix of bittersweet thrown in. I’m ok with where I’m at. I’m amazed at God’s hand on all of this. I know that whatever life throws me, I’ll be ok now.
This journey isn’t something any of us want in any aspect. But if you can hold on and trust and heal the best you know how, you might blown away at what can come from choosing to let this process play out. Even if it’s just the change in how you see it.