48 hours

Dear Baby,I don’t even know if that’s what I should be calling you. Legally, halachically, you never made it to the status of being considered a child. But for two days, two wonderful, wonderful days, you were my child. You caused me to dream. I saw a whole future laid out for us in that span of time. Due dates were figured out. OB/GYNs were considered. Decorating ideas for baby rooms were contemplated. For two days, I imagined what my life could be. What it would be with you, my baby. Thank you for that gift. Thank you, Hashem, for giving me those two days. They were…wonderful. And then, it was over. I didn’t have months before you left me. I didn’t even have a week. I don’t know what the rest of the world considers you to be, but for those two days you changed my world. You were my world. It was a Sunday when I found out the incredible news. After all those years of waiting I was going to be a mom. It was shocking. My mind swirled, my heart was filled to the top with happiness and disbelief. Me, a mom? Your mom. I trembled with absolute joy. But then came Tuesday, when it all crumbled. It just wasn’t viable, they explained. Better now than later on in the pregnancy.  Jump right back into the treatments; it will definitely work next time. I know in my heart that they are right. I know that G-d knows what He is doing. I know that this will make me a stronger, better person. But still… What about my dreams? What about the due date? What about your room? How is it possible for such joy to be transformed into such grief in such a short time? And I cannot, cannot, cannot go on as if nothing happened, just go to work and smile and walk through the streets as if I’m not hollow inside.

Where just a half hour before I felt full, I am now empty. Now I am nothing, an apparition. But even though it seems impossible, unachievable, I do carry on. I go to work. I go grocery shopping. I chat with the neighbors. Emotionally, I am done. Mentally, I am drained. Spiritually, I am confused. Yet somehow, I plaster a smile on my face and go through the motions. But my baby, do not think that you are forgotten. I will always remember you. You will always be my two-day baby. My 48-hour miraculous burst of happiness. I don’t care that you would not be considered a baby by most people. For two days, I felt it. I felt what I had always dreamed of feeling. I felt it. And you will always be my two-day baby. Because I said so. Please, if you can, tell Hashem how much I have suffered. Please tell Him I cannot go through this again. I left my heart behind in little pieces that Tuesday not too long ago. It may take a while to find it. But I believe. I need to believe there is a reason. And even though for now I cannot understand it, I can cry. In private. And I can scream. And the crying, the screaming? It’s not a sign of weakness, merely a sign that I’ve been strong for too long. That about sums it up. Take care, 48-hour baby. I will try to be strong. I will sign off as “Mom.” Because I can.


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