May 7

Don’t lose hope,
when the sun goes down
the stars come out

April was like a thin blanket sheltering me from a cold reality that is May. It’s funny how intangible May was over 9 months ago when I got a positive pregnancy test. Now as I stand at the edge of this dreadful month, I’m reminded of how fast time goes by even when your world has stopped.

Shortly after our loss, I told myself that by the time the due date came around I would already be pregnant again or would at least be healed enough to combat the overwhelming grief of this milestone. And today, just days before our projected due date, I am neither of those things.

Because my trauma took a piece from me that I will never get back. My body has healed and my spirit is slowly recovering, but my baby is gone. A baby that showed so much promise, but was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I torture myself with the what if’s and the how comes. I had a perfectly healthy baby growing inside of my left fallopian tube, like a delicate flower fighting to defy a spring frost. There is no chance of survival if the baby does not implant in the uterus.

The brevity of my unborn baby’s time with us is what hurts the most, because I had a whole life planned out for them. I foolishly accepted that positive pregnancy test as a yes. I allowed it to fill my heart with the promise of dreams come true and happily ever after.

Instead, I find myself tethered to my grief. Even on my best days, I am reminded of my loss. Because my wound is still open and the world carries on. My baby was taken out of me along with my left fallopian tube and replaced with a trauma that infects me like a virus.

I will never be the same.

But that’s not a bad thing. The same trauma that haunts me, is the one that reminds me to be grateful for my healthy son. The scar on my lower abdomen that reveals where my fallopian tube was removed, is a coarse reminder that I still have one remaining tube and can still conceive naturally. And May 7. May 7 will eternally serve as a reminder of life’s fragility and to never take a day for granted.

May 7 was our projected due date. I ask that in honor of the baby we never got to meet, that you do a random act of kindness. It doesn’t have to be anything grand, but I would like there to be some happiness on a day that was supposed to be magical for us. As always, thank you for your love and support. Thank you for letting me use this as an outlet to heal. It means more than I could ever express.

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