Today was hard.

I was nervous about volunteering for so many reasons. Not the least of which was my sensitivity to all things baby. My first task was to read through brochures they keep on hand…to be familiar with them. As if I’m not familiar enough with the stages of pregnancy. As if I don’t now what a nine week baby looks like. As if I don’t know what I lost. I tried to go somewhere else in my mind while I read the text and looked at the beautiful, agonizing images.

I lost so much.

It was hard to exchange pleasantries with S, when my eyes kept returning to her growing belly. I was two weeks behind her. I should look like that. She already knew the sex of her baby. Would I know by now? This baby was my fourth. I would have felt her kick by now.

I would have put off volunteering for longer if M hadn’t of contacted me. I was secretly hoping to not have to face it until I was pregnant. I wanted to say, “yeah, it was hard, but I’m ok…God has given me a new baby”. I wanted it to not hurt so badly. I wanted to not have to be jealous.

It’s so much sometimes. Lately, it’s been so much better. I go two or three days on end without even being sad about it. Then, out of the midnight side of blue, it hits me. An appointment card in the car…a pregnant lady in the store…a memory…a scent…and I’m reeling from the kick in the gut that I wasn’t expecting. Waves of sorrow that I thought had long receded. So hard and strong and inviting. I want to wade into them and lie down.

But they are waves, and, as surely as they come, they eventually retreat.

I survive, but they leave their mark. I know they’ve been there. My heart feels different. Lighter and heavier. Imprisoned and free. I wanted my baby so badly. I prayed for her. I begged for her.

I miss her.