366 days

I didn't remember the date until today. Until a few minutes ago actually. I remember dates very well. I remember birthdays of friends I haven't seen in years, I remember the date Ben held my hand for the first time, I remember the day my grandfather died back in 1995.

But yesterday went by and I didn't realize it was the one year anniversary of losing our baby girl. I feel weird about this. I remember it so clearly, yet the whole month after that seemed to stretch out as one horribly long day. The day that wouldn't end. 

I look back at the year that's passed and I feel confused. 

I thought that surely I'd have a baby by now. Surely my son would have a sibling. 

One thing remains a year later: I HATE miscarriage. I never say the word hate except in this case. I hate miscarriages, I hate losing my babies. It's horrible. 

I didn't write about how after the midwife told me the baby inside me had died, that I had to walk around pregnant for weeks after that. 

That I still had to wear my maternity pants. 

That they wouldn't give me a D&C, because they said I would have scarring. 

That my contractions came in the middle of the night weeks later, just as painful as the ones I had with my son. 

That I had to pass everything at home, because they said it was natural.

That I couldn't go in that bathroom for weeks after that.

That I didn't even want to be married anymore, because I felt like I was failing my husband. 

That I no longer felt like a real woman. 

In most ways, I have healed from the horrible heartache that miscarriage caused. I still struggle with questioning God, still feel the sting every single time someone tells me they are pregnant. 

I still miss Savannah Grace. 

The baby I never held. 

I bet she was beautiful.