A letter to my angels

I never had the chance to know you. I never saw your profile etched on the grainy screen of an ultrasound monitor. I never felt your movements as you grew bigger, positioning yourself for better comfort within the small confines of my stomach. I never heard the whoosh of your heart beating, or chose whether to purchase a gender specific or gender neutral color for your clothes and blankets. I never got to count your fingers or your toes, ensuring that ten, perfect and tiny appendages were entrusted to me. I never got to smell your freshly bathed hair as you were wrapped in your first blanket, or experience your cry.

The only proof of your existence are the two faint lines on a pregnancy test that for months I hid within my closet, finally discarding in to the trash. But I don’t forget about you. Dates that would have held such significance are always remembered. Dates that we would be celebrating, are now merely that. Numbers on a calendar.

Your absence will continue to be felt. Birthdays will acknowledge your absence. Thanksgiving and Christmas will reiterate the fact that you are not here, that there is an empty chair where you should have been. Presents are not under the tree for you. We never had the chance to give you a name.

When I lost you, it was the strongest pain I had ever felt. I experienced your loss so strongly that I truly broke. Mentally and physically, I was shattered. I had experienced loss before, but no loss was as real as yours.

I walked through life bitter and angry after you were gone. I didn’t understand why. I didn’t want to try to understand either. I just couldn’t.

Months later, it felt like you sent me a gift. I was expecting again. You sent me another angel, to ease the pain of your loss. I was over the moon thrilled. I entertained the idea of what this little life inside would be. I decided a girl. But I jumped back on the roller coaster of emotion again, so soon after I found out. This one was gone too. Another loss. More agony.

I rode the cycle of pain, and the journey was turbulent. I cried. I ached. I felt nothing and everything at the same time. I was broken. Spiritually, mentally, physically, I just felt dead inside. I was going through the motions and I just couldn’t get off of this ride I had never asked to be on in the first place.

I never got to mourn you. Or the little one that came after. I went back to work, and carried on with my day to day life. I had two living children depending on me. I couldn’t give up. I didn’t have time. I never got to grieve you. Instead I ached, I lashed out, but I never accepted your loss.

I’m writing this to you now, and I am at peace. I will never forget you, either of you. I can’t understand why either of you were taken from me, but I’m okay now. I know that you are constantly watching over your brothers and I, making sure we are okay. And I want you to know, I am. Doing okay that is. I am happy, and I can say that honestly. I’ve been able to find happiness and not immediately feel guilt in it’s place. I will always miss you, and I will also question what may have been. What I could have named you, how life would have been different with you here. But I no longer feel the ache in my body, or the bitterness within my heart. I have found healing, and I thank you for that gift. Even if we never got to meet face to face, I find that we have met many times in my heart, and I’m also so thankful for those encounters. 5f3595f5b9bce7899f814bb4a772d5d5

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