July 7, 2019: the day our baby girl was supposed to be born. The day we would hold her in our arms for the first time. The day our families would visit us in the hospital. The day we would prepare to bring our daughter home.
Instead it was the day I got a hefty medical bill for my second miscarriage. A day preparing for yet another period, reminding me that my body is failing me. And a day I had been dreading for months.
Luckily today was a Sunday, so my husband Charlie and I had the entire day together to do whatever we wanted. We chose to get tattoos together, as a husband and wife bonding experience and a way to commemorate our daughter on her due date.
I got her name written on my wrist in white and lavender ink, and Charlie got a heartbeat on his chest in black. It was a great way to spend the afternoon (and it did take the entire afternoon sketching, planning, and working with the tattoo artists). It brought us closer together and made me feel comforted knowing we were taking the time and energy for ourselves and our daughter. We could have easily stayed in bed and let the day pass us by, but we seized the day instead.
Once the sun went down we lit a flying Chinese lantern. It felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. Like I was releasing my pain, even if just temporarily. And I was letting her go. Letting her spirit fly high. I hope her light burns fiercely. I know that Charlie and I are the only ones who will keep her fire burning, so we as her parents cannot let her down. We cannot let her be forgotten. We have to keep reminding the world that she existed, however sick of hearing it they are.
It’s a heavy burden feeling like you’re the only one who cares — the only one who will remember her and honor her. But today I was able to release that burden, even if just for the night. Tonight I may cry myself to sleep, but I will sleep peacefully. Tonight I will release all of my frustration, sadness, grief, pain, and anger. Because although this was supposed to be the best day of my life, at least it wasn’t the worst. I survived that day so this one was a walk in the park. And I have to believe there are better days to come.
It’s a hard day knowing what could have/should have been. But was today really any different than yesterday? Any different than tomorrow? Not really. She’s still gone. All I can do is keep moving forward, keeping trucking along on my journey. And now I can say that this dreaded day is behind me. That I’m no longer “supposed” to be pregnant.
I love you Lia, and I wish I had met you today. But I’m making peace with that day I met you far too soon ❤