If Ander had been born at term, this past April, instead of at 24 weeks in the cold of January…
… K would be bringing a one-year-old to her 10-year college reunion in May, showing him off. Instead, we’re hoping I’ll be pregnant, and might not be able to go.
… My grandmother would have met her grandson. Instead, she – at 86 – just lost her eyesight completely, and was told she has fewer than six months to live.
… He would be toddling down the aisle at my sister’s wedding in August, and taking his first international flight to Israel for her second wedding (her fiance is Israeli so they’re having two weddings). Instead, if I get pregnant in the next six months, chances are very high I’ll have to miss her weddings entirely (it’s in CT. I’m in Chicago. Last time I was on bed rest starting at basically 20 weeks). Even though she’s my only sister. And I’m the maid of honor (well, matron, but that word is awful!).
The “it should have beens” are killing me this week. All our perfect planning, all those perfect moments, all those wonderful things that should have been, aren’t. How does one move past that grief?
Do you have perfect moments that now will never be?