Last night, I broke down. Cupcake was asleep in bed, Honey was outside mowing the lawn, and I was reading Pregnancy After a Loss while watching Dawson’s Creek on Netflix. Yes, you read that right. It’s a guilty pleasure, what can I say?
I was in the next-t0-last chapter of my book, one I probably shouldn’t have even read until I’m actually pregnant again, and the author was talking about ways to honor and remember the baby you lost. And I don’t know what happened next, but suddenly I was curled in a ball on the sofa and I was sobbing. Just crying my eyes out uncontrollably.
And the only image in my head was of Cupcake and our day of play at the park and the way she would point with such glee at each airplane as it passed overhead and run from her daddy, giggling the whole time, and how she would creep among the trees, looking to discover something new. And as I wept alone in the living room, I just kept thinking, I will never have that with Teddy Graham. I didn’t just lose a baby I will never get to hold, kiss, and nurse. I lost a whole life, all the years beyond the babyness, the years of wonderment, unbridled joy, discovery, magic, growth. I lost everything and even if I get pregnant again, I will never get those years with Teddy Graham. It will be a different baby, another life.
I don’t know why this is just occurring to me now, but it is. I guess grief is weird that way. But I’m okay. I think I just needed a good cry.