Last year was rough for Luke and I. We lost another baby.
Luke wants more kids as much as I do. I’m grateful for that. Many friends have told me of their own baby yearnings which have been met by a flat out ‘no’ from their other half (male and female). But there are times when I do wonder if it would be easier if Luke just said, “You know what, this is too hard. Why don’t we give up the dream.”
When you are reproductively challenged there’s a down side to having a partner who wants a child as much as you do. With every loss I feel his pain as well as my own.
During this last pregnancy I started writing The Secret Pregnancy Diaries. A rough journal of my experiences – unedited, unproofed, uncorrected. A pure outpouring of my emotions. I think I hoped it would be a record of the journey to our ‘happy ending’.
Here’s a sample:
the flowers that bloomed so beautifully when I first found out I was pregnant – the ones I held onto because it was the first bunch you ever bought for me – today have to be thrown out. as I carry them – lilies – the flower of death – as i carry them outside to tip onto the garden they shed their delicate petals, like tears, behind me. Levi exclaims with sadness, “Mummy, your flowers are dead”.
In those same diaries I wrote about my husband’s loss:
Your pain, intuited, is almost too much for me to bear. I can’t carry your pain and mine too.
Things have been tough for us since we lost this last little one. Our Sunshine Coast holiday in January did not heal us. The loss – papered over in the festive rush of Christmas – was raw. Gaping.
This is why I hoped beyond hope that my husband – not a big fan of the ‘social occasion’ – would come with me to the launch of Zoe’s book.