The Thanksgiving that wasn't-

A year ago today we had our third miscarriage. It came as a hard blow for many reasons: because it came after almost 3 years of trying, two different fertility specialists, two previous miscarriages, our last injectable/IUI cycle that we could afford, and it was of course at the time of year we were supposed to be giving thanks.

Let's just say that I wasn't feeling the most thankful.

Granted I did give praise for small things, like the miscarriage being so early and therefore less painful physically. Also, it didn't drag itself out until Thanksgiving, instead it got the party started a few days beforehand.

I know that doesn't sound like much to be thankful for, but is was.

Of course, we didn't tell many family members about this right away. For the same reasons we didn't tell them about the first one right away (which if you remember, happened when we were getting ready to go to our nephews birthday party). But more than that, I think, we were just plain tired of telling them, "Yeah, we had another miscarriage." And getting a, "That's too bad" in response. We've never even got a chance to tell them "We're pregnant"... I doubt we ever will, but you never know I guess.

The holidays are already hard enough without that miscarriage being added on top of everything. We're swamped with baby talk, and everyone focusing on the children and new life that is such a given, so expected. Everyone focuses on who's there, while all it does is remind me of who isn't. What couldn't be. What we've lost. The possibilities that will never be realized.

I was at work when the nurse called me, and here I am a year later, at work again. But so much has changed. A year ago I was despondent, having got the news on my cellphone. The nurse told me how sorry she was, and all I could say was that I knew. I had known before it began. Here I am today, and just two weeks ago I told the nurse that I couldn't keep doing this, that we were at the end of the road, that we would no longer try for a biological child. Crying again. A year ago today, with all my fears realized, we began to accept that we might never have a biological child. Here I am today saying it out loud, barring a miracle, we are never going to have a biological child. So much stays the same in a year, yet how much can change.

I still miss my babies. Every last one of them.

I still don't feel at peace enough with my grief to face a round of "pass around the new baby" at Thanksgiving dinner. No thanks. My husband and I are going to enjoy each other's company, embrace our family of just two, and mourn while we give thanks. It's amazing how happy you can be when you're so terribly sad, that you can laugh even though your heart is broken.