What a difference a year makes.
A year ago today, was the most difficult day of my life. Never before have I been as blindsided by devastation, pain, grief, disbelief, and certainty as I was that day, all at once. And love. The strength of a love that is staggering in the loss.
I went into my OB’s office expecting to see my baby growing and safe. Instead, we were confronted with our baby’s lifeless form on the ultrasound screen. No warning. But nothing could have prepared us for that anyway.
After the subsequent D&C, I wrote a letter to Charlie, my lost child. I told him the only thing I got to know about him was his heartbeat, and how much I loved him. Then I sealed it and put it him his memory box.
525,600 minutes later, my infant daughter, two months new, is napping in front of me. Charlie’s sister. Birdy is beautiful, and puzzling, and colicky, and seeing her smile and hearing her coo makes my day.
And I know that without Charlie, there would be no Birdy. If we had waited longer after losing him to try to conceive, we might have a baby –a little life that we would undoubtedly love — but it wouldn’t be Birdy. It wouldn’t be her little soul.
There’s an element of cognitive dissonance in that.
But a year after the worst day of my life, I can only be grateful. For both of my children.