According to one IVF site, my due date was December 6. According to the nurse in our program, it was December 8. Sandwiched in between, I thought I'd submit a post to register the nonevent. A miscarriage. Months that have gone by where I imagined myself at different stages of pregnancy. And now the week, the day(s) where briefly, it was expected that we would welcome a baby into the world.
I visited my beloved therapist today. I talked about a lot of crap, but each time he brought me back to what this is: the due date. I want to avoid it, I said. We all want to get away from our pain, don't we, but you told me when we booked the appointment that it was the day before the due date. You wanted me to remember.
Yes, beloved therapist. Yes. Remind me. Don't let me run from my pain, from my own experience. It's not much, but it's all mine.
Yes, beloved therapist. I wanted you to hold it for me. It's so hard to hold it by myself.
I feel like I said goodbye to owlet in June. In a way, I do not picture owlet having lived. He didn't. It was final. Unequivocal. I feel like this grim anniversary is not just for the little life that could have been but wasn't. It's also a marker of our failure to become parents.
I feel sad about not being able to honour Sattva's gift. I know it's nothing I did or didn't do. I just wish it could have worked.
I won't stay in this grief forever. We are moving on to the next steps. But I know that I need to pause now and mark this due date before I move on with our story.