Some days it feels like it was all pretend. Like we set up the nursery just for fun. That my stomach got bigger just because it could. That we didn't actually go to the hospital and deliver a baby. It's like I made it all up.
I understand why women have more than one baby, even after feeling like their body is torn in half. You take one look at that cute little face, and suddenly the pain was all worth it.
I don't have that cute little face at home to remind me of what I went through.
I no longer feel the pain I endured during my short labor.
My aching body has been healed for almost a year.
Sometimes we go to the cemetery, and the idea of our child being buried there feels intangible. I feel like we are doing it just because, like we're putting on a show, or making up some part of our life.
We have to remind ourselves a lot that this is our life. Most of the time it feels like we are on the outside looking in. But then we remember that we are the ones living it. Our home is empty. Our child is buried in the cemetery. It is our life that is so drastically different than we expected it to be.
When it seems made up, I remember the emotional pain I have felt since the day we lost him. I relive the twenty-four hours in the hospital as fully as I can, because even though it was the hardest day of my entire life, it reminds me that all of it was real. We made him, I carried him, and I delivered him, with Brandon by my side. Carter is real, our loss is real, and our love for him is the strongest, most real thing I will ever know in my life.