I had a miscarriage the day after Thanksgiving 2006. Even though I already had three children (one of whom was still in diapers), it was the single most devastating thing that has ever happened to me. More jolting than my husband losing his job twice. More heart-breaking than losing people I loved who actually lived and breathed. A child I never knew, a child that was never even a child anywhere other than my mind, was gone.
Our holiday traditions include buying a Christmas ornament every year for the tree. That year we all picked ornaments, and I chose a special one for the baby that never was. It is two hearts joined together.
As I pulled the ornament out of the box tonight, I recoiled and hid it from the kids and from Colby, tucked in my hands. I remembered how in 2006 as we put up our Christmas tree as we do every year the day after Thanksgiving, my baby was slowly leaving me. More painful than any labor, the depth of my sadness was excruciating. I started to cry tonight when I saw that ornament as I am while I type this. I finally got the courage to show the ornament to Colby, half worried that he wouldn't remember why we bought it. He remembered. And I will never forget.
The hearts sit at the top of our tree reminding me every day during the holiday season that I have a special little heart, one that probably never beat, but one that still means so much to me.
1 comment:
When I was a child, I could never understand how Christmas could be bittersweet; now that I'm an adult I understand quite well. The baby was real to you and that's what matters.
Post a Comment