Sorry, it was our due date. Sept. 13 was our due date when we had something due. Which we haven’t for more than six months now.
It’s hard to believe that I could be nine months pregnant right now. That we could be enjoying our last days of it being just the two of us. That we could be parents tomorrow. Or the next day. Or Saturday.
Instead of putting together cribs and playpens, my husband and I have been taking stock of the things we’ve gained in the past six months, rather than the thing we lost.
We’ve gained a future we never would have had if we had stayed pregnant. I got a new job, which I really like. We bought a new house that has become our home. We look at the positive, not the negative.
It doesn’t mean I forget what was lost six months ago, or what it felt like to be pregnant. It doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes wonder why it happened, or if it was something I did that caused it. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel like we were cheated out of a future we wanted. Almost like someone was reading a Choose your Own Adventure book regarding our fate. Instead of turning to page 103, they went to page 90. And we ended up where we are.
So it’s fitting that five days before our scheduled due date, something else of mine has been born. It’s something I have laboured over since our loss. It’s not the story of the child we have, but rather what we lost.
You can read it here on the Toronto Star’s website, or see it in today’s paper.
Now, it’s time to move on.