Don’t they know?

I wonder if today or tomorrow would be my due date. Most babies don’t come on the exact day of their expected arrival. Would it have been today? Would it have been yesterday? Would it be tomorrow? I don’t know. The “few” who experienced the happy news of our pregnancy, would be aware of the due date, had they done the math.

There were those that knew of our first loss, and of those, who asked in scrutiny, “how far along?,” as if it the length of pregnancy, would have made a difference in the support they would have offered. I shared my “iPad app” with my parents. I showed them on the living room apple TV,…” that is the size of our embryo right now,” I excitedly explained. They knew the math. Don’t they know? Did they forget? They would be grandparents by now!

The phone rang once today. It was my mother-in-law, checking to see if I would be joining a family dinner. A year ago, I longingly hoped and dreamed of this mother/daughter relationship. I looked forward to the day when she would refer to herself, to me, as “mom.” Her voicemail said, “Hi. It’s Mom,” she began. She was inviting me to dinner, to celebrate the anniversary of her youngest child. I knew why she was calling even before I heard the voicemail.

I want to be happy for my “sibling-in-laws.” I want to be ecstatic about the birth of their child. I keep trying. I think about their baby each and every day. After all, this child, has made us an “aunt and uncle.” It isn’t the baby I can’t bare to see. It is them, the parents, and the grandparents, who have comments, that I can’t absorb. Aside from the unwanted invitation to celebrate my sibling-in-laws, that I physically can’t be near, my phone did not ring.

There were different people who had sent a text message. 3 of the 4 were my co-workers, commenting on the snow that had started falling, wondering if tomorrow would be a “snow-day.” The last part of the equation was from my husband who is currently on another continent. I hope that he is only on this other land in the physical sense. He didn’t call today. He only left two days ago. Maybe he didn’t call because his internet is “choppy.” Maybe he did not call because he was avoiding the pain he knew he would hear in my voice. I can’t blame him for not calling. Maybe this is his escape from our brutal reality.

I started to send a text to my best friend. My friend who was my made of honor, my friend, who shared her recent pregnancy with me, in the same breath, with whom that I had shared my most recent loss. I deleted the text. She wouldn’t understand, she doesn’t understand.

Am I more upset that my phone didn’t ring today or that I am not holding our baby? Do I feel alone because my husband is away on business or because I have embarked this dreaded “due date?” Do I feel alone because no one acknowledged the existence of the life that was once within me? It is not only now that I long to be a mother, but I long for a mother. Where is she? Where is my mother?

long story, short.

I take forever to get to the point of the story. Sometimes you can’t figure out what I am talking about until I get to the end. The long story, short or is it the short story, long? I fell in love with my husband at 25. He proposed shortly after I turned 30 and we were married less than a year later. We did everything “right.” We waited until we were both finished our schooling and settled in our careers. We had our parents approval and were married in the church of our families faith. I had imagined our life surrounded by family, by children, by our children. I have since had two miscarriages. As the due date of our first miscarriage approaches, I find myself, seeking something, although at this point, I am not exactly sure what. Am I looking for closure? Recognition? Faith? Acceptance? Hope? I don’t know. I do know that it is a lonely place to be. I have found solace in reading forums and blogs of other women, who have bravely posted about their infertility and miscarriage experience. Maybe my stories will make the world a little bit less lonely for those of you on a similar journey.