you would have arrived today

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ah, the overdone "dear miscarried baby post".

Sorry, had to do it, baby.

If you had followed the pattern of birth your older brother and sister had, it's today you would have arrived.

All 3 of you had the same due date, the 5th. Both of the others were born on the 16th of the month before.

So, you were due on September 5th but you would have been born today, August 16.

I feel your absence in all things, but mostly near me, right near, where I would have hugged you close and tucked you into me, a bastion of protection.

We would be dreaming up names for you and wondering who you'd look like. Sissy's hair? Brother's eyes? We'd wonder who you would share a room with, or would you land yourself squarely in our bed for a time?

I think the hardest part about miscarriage, the unexpected part, was the loss of the dream. It's one I feel so acutely I can still sense its bitter taste on tongue.

There have been a slew of pregnancy announcements this week, eight of them, in fact, and I wonder if it would have been just a little bit easier to take with you in my arms, to smell your sweet scent and marvel at your bunched-up little baby body.

People think, "You can always try again." And that's true. It is, I suppose you always can. But the trying is what scares me, because I don't want to lose that again.

Life is always imperfect, and to find any amount of peace, we must accept it that way. We must come to it on its own terms and breathe it in, imperfect scent as it is.

So, baby, that is what I am to do tonight. I will think of you and put you in your proper place. A place for memories and untied ribbons, the place where unretouched photographs fight moths for memories.

I will relish each moment I have with these:

and seal you tightly away, forever,

in my heart.