Today, I remember.
I remember April 19, 2012 when I started to bleed at just 7 weeks 1 day pregnant.
I remember the sight of the dark red blood on my fingers, an image I see in my nightmares to this day.
I remember my sweet Teddy Graham, whom I knew was gone before an ultrasound ever confirmed it.
Today, I remember the ultrasound, the black space, the firm line the sonographer’s mouth made as she stared at the screen.
I remember the simple text I sent to my sister, a friend, and my mother: “No heartbeat” and the ding, ding, ding as my cell was flooded with texts in response.
I remember the tears that went on and on, that came and kept coming long after I lost all the energy to wipe them away.
I remember the days that followed, how they zipped by and dragged by at once, all a blur of grief and unbelief.
I remember the dissolution of my new relationship with my sister, how it unraveled like a poorly-made sweater, coming further undone with each insensitive or critical comment she made as I mourned my way through the summer.
Today, I remember those who were there for me when I needed them the most, and those who were not there when I was at my most vulnerable.
I remember the fear and the despair and the rage that engulfed me when I let it.
I remember how I was broken and how this blog — and all of you — picked me up and put me back together again, just like Humpty.
I remember that today is not about the baby growing inside of me right now, but about the Baby Who Almost Was, the baby who was but now isn’t and never will be again, and yet will somehow live in my heart forever.