Today is the second anniversary of my miscarriage.
Last week I drove by the cemetery where the memorial is and started crying. Some days I wonder when it will stop hurting. When the ache will fade. And then another corner of me doesn’t want to forget. Will that negate the life that God created?
Then I look at the women who miscarried ten, twenty, thirty years ago and still tear up when they mention their miscarriage.
I don’t think it’s the kind of loss you forget. You may move on. You may heal. It may not be such a raw pain. But you don’t forget.
I wonder about the baby. Was he a boy or a girl? What call and purpose did God have on his life? What would he have added to our family? Was he the little brother Eric thinks Jonathan needs? I wonder.
Rebecca is chattering up a storm — her sweet voice and personality is a balm to my heart, but the ache remains.