Two weeks ago was the one year anniversary of my first loss.
I was in Fort Lauderdale at the time of the “anniversary” (Aren’t anniversaries supposed to be happy occasions?). My week there wasn’t bad – it was nice to have a reprieve from the cold and snow. I was busy with meetings Sunday evening, Monday afternoon/evening, Tuesday morning, Wednesday afternoon/evening and Thursday morning. I was busy but also had some “free” time or “me” time. Monday and Wednesday I went to the hotel gym, had breakfast then went out by the pool to read Gone Girl (I started it on the flight down, and finished it Thursday night!) Tuesday afternoon I went to Hollywood Beach, had lunch there and walked the boardwalk. I met plenty of new people at the meetings – some of the meetings had 75 attendees. Out of all the people I met only two people asked the dreaded “Do you have any kids?”
I never know how to answer that. What I want to say is – Yes, I have two, but they died. Instead I say “No” and try to give a stern expression that says: I don’t want to have this personal conversation with you. Most people nod politely and change the subject, or I change the subject.
I actually felt more melancholy the night before the “anniversary” than the day itself. The day before I remember thinking several times – “This is the last day of the worst year of my life*. This is it.” For a while that night I stared out the window of my room watching the planes take off from the airport – they were taking off headed out over the ocean. The hotel was only about 3 miles from the airport, my room was looking out over Port Everglades. I stood there watching the planes disappear into the stars or passing clouds. All those people taking off – going somewhere, doing something. I wondered about those people. Where were they going? Were they traveling for work or fun? An exotic vacation? Maybe to celebrate a wedding? Or something sad like a funeral? Where were they from? Maybe there was someone on one of those planes who had lost a pregnancy like me. Or someone trying to get pregnant, or someone who hated kids. Maybe grumpy old men. Maybe flashy “Real Housewives” types. I wondered about the baby I had lost – does my baby see me? Can my baby feel how sad I am that I lost him/her? Does he/she wish that his/her mother would pull it together and stop being sad or grumpy? Am I embarrassing my baby, wherever he/she might be?
It was rather uneventful. I didn’t flip out, I didn’t cry. I didn’t bring it up to The Husband – I doubt he remembers the exact date of our losses, just the months. I just kept going, like I have been.