Mother's Day. It started with the world's biggest hug from Dean, as he called out Happy Mother's Day and ran toward me, jumping into my arms. Oh my sweet, big boy. He was quickly followed by Warren, who informed me that gluten free pancakes were coming my way. These boys are obsessed with baking me gluten free goodies. And so, I was sent back to my room to wait on the breakfast. In toddles Hannah, with her hair all a mess, her soft curls bouncing every which way as she climbed up into my bed and arms. "Happy Mudder's Nay" she says. Sweet girl, and my heart melts a bit. It was as promised, gluten free pancakes (of which I get about 3 bites before little hands reach in and grab the rest). Served alongside some sweet handmade cards. Dean's was my favorite this year, as he chose to draw our family. Cue the tears. There in a line are the 5 of us, plus Lucas, Reagan, and Noah. No one ever has to remind Dean to include those 3, he does it automatically. They are as much a part of our family to him as those siblings he gets to fight with every day. I LOVE that, the sweet innocence of it all. Often Jesus is in our family pictures too, since that is who is taking care of the others. He probably would sit and draw all 11 if he knew about those babies too. And, here's the thing, I waited so many years for these moments, for the chance to have handmade cards filled with the things the kids love. I wouldn't change that, our morning family time. It was exactly what I needed.
But as the day has gone on, it's all getting to me. The physical pain of this miscarriage is worse than I expected. And way later than the others. And it just feels like a slap in the face to be facing it today of all days. And it makes me angry. And immeasurably sad. Last Mother's Day I was pregnant with Lucas, woken by his little kicks. I remember feeling overwhelmed with it all at brunch as I struggled to picture myself being able to manage a 4th kid when the oldests were only 3. It seemed impossible. And now? Now, I will never know. I'll never get the chance; it was taken from me. The finality of it all seems to be pushing me over the edge today. This deep longing for the children I never got to know. It's like this whole last year has been a complete waste, full of nothing but pain and grief and agony. Part of me is still stupidly hopeful for a miracle, part of me is so jaded and bitter with it all that I am overcome with hopelessness. It's a constant back and forth until the emotional ups and downs get the best of me, and I return once again to numb. I don't know how to get through this one, how to go forward from here. It just all hurts too much. Especially today
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