This time 8 years ago, I woke up to a warm wet sensation on my legs and in the bed and horrific stomach cramps, I jumped out of bed and the blood started to gush down my legs. I was hysterical. We raced to the emergency room and by the time the gynae on call came down to perform the scan, our baby had already been “evacuated”. I’d had what I was horrified to discover referred to as a “spontaneous abortion”. My first miscarriage.
Every year since, the 12th September has been a unbelievabley sad day for me, the start of the hardest trial of my life. The start of a journey that was at times so unbearably painful I wished, no I begged to die. There times when the pain was so excruciating that it hurt to breathe, there were times when the sadness and grief were so overwhelming that I didn’t know how to live.
But today I have come full circle and instead of sitting year reminiscing on the day that started it all, on feeling sad and thinking about all the coulda/shoulda/woulda been’s, I’ve been sitting here, sipping coffee with Walter and laughing at Ava as she plays on the floor, rolling about, leopard crawling and attempting to crawl while the effort of it all causes little farts to escape her.
Today instead of being sad, I’m happy. I’m happy it’s behind me. I’m happy to have my daughter with me. I haven’t forgotten, I’ll never forget, that’s the whole point of the tattoo, to never forget, my badge of honor that I will wear, etched into my skin forever, for what I’ve been through and survived.
But finally, there is only happiness!