One year ago I called my midwife, Faith. I was pregnant but something was wrong. I knew something was wrong from the moment I saw two pink lines. I knew it in my bones. She told me to go to the E.R.

One year ago I called the E.R. In my little town and they told me to come in. When I got there, though, they told me I just had to go home and wait it out. No ultrasound. No blood work. They could do nothing since they didn’t have an actual OB in house. WHY DID YOU TELL ME TO COME IN THEN?

One year ago, David dropped me off at my sister-in-law, Veronica’s house. He didn’t want me to be alone and he had to go to work. We sat in silence in her living room. It was what I needed. We sat in silence, until I went to the bathroom. I broke the silence by screaming. Yelling NO! Sobbing.

One year ago I left Zara in her care without even asking. I needed David. There were 4 or 5 customers in line when I opened the door to his newly opened coffee shop. I didn’t see him, so with a tear streaked face and strangers staring at me, I told his brother, Stuart, that I needed David.

One year ago, I apologized profusely to David. Over and over again outside in the parking lot of his coffee shop.

One year ago we drove in silence for 45 minutes to a real OB. Praying our own Separate prayers.

One year ago…I was ready to hear the words ‘It’s a sub chorionic hematoma,’ or ‘you’re losing one twin.’ The second was less preferable but anything….ANYTHING would have been better than, ‘there is no baby. Your uterus is empty. No sign of pregnancy at all.’

One year ago, we drove home. Not in silence this time. There was nothing to pray about anymore. We both cried.

One year ago I passed Emerson with little webbed unformed hands and feet.

One year ago I passed Judah with black eye dots and a mouth in the shape of a smile. He let me know they were all right now. To not be sad.

One year ago, things changed. They got hard. I got scarred. Scars on the inside and out.

This year I wore my special dress. I bought tulips and I cried. But I also had a birthday party to host. So, that is what I did.

This year I hold two new babies that need me and love me.

This year I watch Elsa and listen to Taylor Swift on repeat.

This year I run two small businesses selling beautiful clothes and jewelry out of my home. (Agnes and Dora and Paparazzi.)

This year I have determination to become a midwife.

This year I learned. What I can handle. What I can’t. What I can overcome. What I’m still working on. What I will always work on. What kind of wife I am. What kind of husband he is. What kind of mom I am. What kind of mom I want to be.

This year I don’t know if I would recognize the girl I was last year. And, yet, I’m still loved beyond measure.

This year I want to help other moms. Change birth and miscarriage and postpartum mood disorder culture.

And that’s me today. As I sit and write this. On a Sunday morning, a year later, with three kids in my lap. And sleep in my eyes.

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