How Are We Still Sad

Today Doesn't Look a Thing Like I Hoped It Would

February’s birth flower, a gift from my sister (there aren’t many things I’d grab in a fire but this would be one)

My tiniest love, today should have been your second birthday.

I thought time would make the grief of missing you softer, but somehow it keeps growing sharper as we pass milestones we’ll never get to celebrate.

I wonder what your voice would sound like when you called for me. I wonder what you would have loved, how you would have run, and what our life would look like if you were still here. I wonder who your dad and I would be if we were more familiar with the joy of knowing you than the pain of losing you. We’d give anything to celebrate you today instead of grieving you.

My tiniest love, we never got to meet the way I wanted to, the way I thought we would. The couple of months we had together wasn’t nearly enough. I thought we’d have more time. I want more time.

My tiniest love, you’re a heartbreak I’m not sure I’ll ever heal from. Grief is a nightmare, and I think I’ll always be angry about what happened. You were supposed to be the rest of my life—there was going to be before you and after you. I wanted to give you everything. I wanted to never be the same again. The way parents talk about how life-changing it is to love their child, I wanted that love. I wanted to be your mom.

And I guess in a twisted way that all came true, just not in the way I hoped.

My littlest love, I don’t know how to do this. I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you were here and these were someone else’s words, someone else’s life.

We miss you every day.

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I feel like I should be less sad.

It’s common - 1 in 4.

It’s been years. Years. Get over it. Keep living. You’re young.

Is it the grief of losing him? Is it the grief of infertility? Would I hurt this much if I had gotten pregnant again? Why does it hurt so much?

Am I just terrible at moving on and letting go? Probably.

I feel like I’m stuck treading water, and everyone is swimming past me. I don’t think I remember how to swim, but I want to. I’m tired—so tired.