9

Aughhhh, nine months.

Nine months is here, and I hate it. Nine months since I started having contractions on sunday, october 17.


The worst part of it all is that I feel so very far away from her. Since losing her, I've visualized time in linear fashion, with the "before Gwen" marked with smiley faces and stars, tagging the weeks with midwife appointments, the first time I felt her move, when I started wearing maternity clothes, when I cried because I was so large in maternity clothes... all the milestones were happy.

And then the switch, the worried expressions, the rushing to the hospital, the doctor telling me not to expect her to be alive. And then the waiting, waiting to see if she would improve, waiting to see if she would crash. And then Jesus came for her, and our life is now marked with... nothing. New items for our to-do list or camp errands or trips, of course. But no, "Gwen took her first step today!" or "Gwen is eating solids!" or "Gwen started waving!" Exclamation marks and smiley faces are for the blissfully unaware's calendar; not mine.

And all along I've pictured the timeline unraveling as each month wears on... at 2 months into grief, I remembered being 7 months pregnant, at 6 months later, I remembered how I wasn't really showing at 3 months. And now I'm at 9 months, and my pregnancy is undone, and I miss her.

And this suitcase of memories that I lug around with me is getting lighter and heavier... the memories of her, the thoughts of her, the way it felt when she'd kick me, or do somersaults or breathe... they're all getting shoved to the edges of my suitcase or squeezed out completely. I feel like I hardly have time to think of her. And new plans, friends, schedules, work, Hope Mommies, birthdays, anniversaries, and the dailyness of life is taking over my bag, and I don't like it.

And I really just miss you Gwen, and can't believe it's been a pregnancy's length of time since I felt you.

"But He knows the way that I take; and when He has tried me, I shall come out as gold." Job 23:10