Today, February 13th, I should be giving birth to my third baby. Instead, I sit hear remembering the short while that I was pregnant with this little kiddo. I was only six and a half weeks. Hardly pregnant. Barely pregnant.
I hate those terms. You’re either pregnant or you’re not.
This day hasn’t been as difficult as past “birth days”… I’m sad and reminiscing, but I’m still functional, unlike before. I wish things could be different… Wish that I could be holding a new born and showing my soon to be one year old (my second baby would have been one this April) their new brother or sister. The hardest part is the what-if’s and what-should-have-beens. My heart aches for the these babies. I believe one day I will be able to meet them, but for now, I have to wait until that moment. The most difficult part of this is not not having them here… it’s that I didn’t know them. I have nothing to miss or remember them by. The wondering what they would have been and what they would have been like. What their school pictures would have looked like. Would they be a mama’s boy or a daddy’s girl? Never getting to know those little souls are far worse.
One thing that I find ironic… I wrote about Joe in a post a while back called, “It just ain’t fittin.” On Saturday, we received a phone call from my mother-in-law. She was hysterical; Joe died. It from what they can tell, he died from a heart attack, possibly an aneurism. Apparently, it looked like he just went to sleep. What I find ironic is how much I missed him, even though I didn’t know him (hardly at all)… just like my babies. I knew more about Joe than I knew about any of my babies, but it still wasn’t a lot of information.
The memorial service for Joe is tonight, in my husband’s home state. We aren’t able to go to the memorial service, but still sent a card to the family letting them know we’re thinking of them. I wish we had gotten to know Joe more. I wish we had been more aggressive. I wish we could have helped him. Apparently, he only tried to do our “plan” for three weeks and then became frustrated. If we had tried to help him sooner, would it have helped? Could we have done something? Would it have made a difference? Again, the what-if’s start to consume you and all you can do is hope that you did enough.
We’re all only here for such a short while. I’m tired of thinking I could have done more. I need to believe that I did the best I could, and my best was good enough even if the outcome wasn’t what I thought it should be. I should have been at the birth of my baby today and I should have been at a memorial service… the birth and death of two people I barely got the chance to know. But they both touched my life… just for a moment. And that’s good enough, because all we have are moments.