Tonight I'll be lighting a candle at 7pm in honor of the children I've lost, my niece who was still born, and in honor of the children lost by my friends and strangers alike. There are no words to capture the pain and loneliness that comes with losing a child. Tonight, I want you to know that you're not alone. That your children will be remembered.
It's been three years since my last miscarriage, and four and a half since my first... I do have a child now, playing on the floor at my feet. He doesn't erase all that was, or those that were lost. He gives me new hope and strength, but there were three children that came before him and I won't ever forget their presence.
When I went through my miscarriages, I didn't just lose my children. I lost so much more. I lost hope, joy, naivety, friends, family, an entire future of possibilities. When I found out I was pregnant the first time, I smiled. The last time, I cried and cursed, despite going through fertility treatments and knowing that was the goal. The thought of going through another loss was unbearable. Neither my husband or myself could bring ourselves to believe in anything anymore.
I looked out the window today. It's overcast, chilly; the season is turning. The rose bush I planted in honor of my second loss holds it's last bloom of the season. One single, beautiful white rose, trying to hold it's own against the inevitable cold.
I can never get them back. I'll never know who they were destined to be. All I can do is remember them and hold them in my heart. Until the day I die.