Today was her due date. Our little Peanut. Oh, I know… she could have come earlier or still not yet have come, but today is the day that we were counting down to. However, instead of counting down with excitement + joy, since February, we’ve been counting down with dread.
It feels like forever ago + just like yesterday all at once. The day back in winter when we said goodbye to our little girl. It was something we had to do. It was the best for her, for us… it was just the worst, but the best. And a decision that no one should ever have to make.
She was almost 16 weeks. Lina had to give birth to her. I did my best to support in the midst of falling apart + freaking out. And then, after a day in the hospital, the worst day of our lives, after watching my love quietly go through the pain + trauma of giving birth, using her breath as her strength, after trying to support + calm + understand + use my presence as my strength, after holding our little Peanut and saying goodbye, it was time to pack up, accept this new reality + go home empty handed. Knowing that the July due date would now only be a memorial date.
What a surreal feeling it was. Shock. Trauma. Grief. Pain. But, mostly, numb.
Through the spring, we’ve learned a lot about grief and life. How it is always parallel. The first couple of weeks were just grief, however. Like we’d been swallowed into this black hole. But, then, we had to continue on with life. Pick up our daily routines again. Begin work again. Go grocery shopping. Do the laundry. And, eventually, even find small pockets of joy, of laughter, of hope. But always with that current of grief + emptiness running under the surface, bubbling up + spilling over at times.
I know that grief does not disappear. The emptiness will always be there. But, there is space to hold that grief + to continue to live. And, somehow, that grief is simply evidence of deep love, one of the mysteries of the universe. Over time, the shock + pain will lessen; but there will always be that stream of grief that flows along with me through my life, joining the current of other loved ones who are no longer with me here on earth.
But, today, I ride that current of grief. Honoring + memorializing our little girl who never got to live, grieving the dreams we had of what this day could have been, but humbly knowing that somehow we found the strength to do what was the best for us all by trusting – our intuition, the research we read, and the specialists with whom we consulted.
Now, we tap into that same strength, the power of the love between us, and hold each other tight today + as we move onward from the due date.
Sonja Ruth Reynolds Eriksson. We love you. And we miss you so much.