January 27, 2015 by CassieCravings
January is a great celebration to many people. It is a fresh start, a new beginning, a season of hope. January, for me, is a time of remembrance and mourning. There is a gnawing pang of loss and defeat.
In January of 2009, I sat in my childhood bathroom in the middle of the night and miscarried my first baby. I curled up in a ball on that worn linoleum and wished to die. I pressed my cheek against the pink tiles as agony, both physical and emotional, tore through me. “Never again,” I moaned. “Never again.” It was too much. I already gave it my entire heart. I couldn’t take the grief.
This was my first child.
After that terrible day, I went on to carry 6 more babies. Baby #3 was the only live birth. On 12 March 2010, after weeks of bed rest I gave birth, to a perfect son. He was our rainbow after the torrential downpour. He was our hope after our heartache.
Tonight, as I remembered our journey, I cradled our one “live birth.” I inhaled the scent of his baby shampoo. I rocked him as he serenaded me with his favorite nursery rhyme, he twirling my hand in his. I kissed him until he finally wriggled away.
January is my least favorite month. It is the month that I finally understood loss, that I knew heartache from the inside out. March, however, is my very favorite month. March is the month when I held my long-awaited son in my arms for the first time. As much as January is death, March is hope.
I’m so thankful that my son’s birthday falls only a couple of months after the dreaded month. It’s a nod to keep looking to the future, to keep seeking hope.