It’s amazing what time does. It dulls pain, mellows anger, softens regret. Not that there was anything to be done. At least that’s what they tell you. A missed miscarriage is no ones fault.
It’s been a year, sweet Olive. And I’m not sure one day has been the same since.
I carry your heart with me, I carry it in my heart.
Perhaps for this short while until Obi comes into the world, it’s in 2 hearts. Though Obi’s only beats because yours does not. If you hadn’t come and gone, I probably wouldn’t have been driven to carry on trying, so thank you for that. The sharp absence felt by your loss pushed me to go further than I would have.
I came across a woman injecting Gonal-f and luveris in a bathroom in the building where I do acupuncture. She apologized to me and I told her there was no need. That I had been there, done that and was expecting from the last attempt, 15 weeks along, through a clinic that also shares the building. I also told her to exhale as she injects. It hurts less. She thanked me, and looked a little more hopeful.
As I left, I thought of the ups and downs, of Bubble and Obi and you, Olive. You’re just as much a part of my story and although I wish that chapter ended differently, I wouldn’t change it.
Sweet dreams, Sweet Olive, where ever you are.