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When Christmas is Heartbreaking

She would have been fifteen.

For some reason I just assume that I only make girls.

She would have been fifteen.

For some reason I just assume that I only make girls. Being a self-professed girly girl, I soak in all the sugar and spice. Fairy tales and make believe, chasing after dreams like clouds thinking if I jumped high enough I could hold them in my hand.

I haven’t thought about her in a while. But for years thoughts of her consumed my waking moments and my dreams.

It was Christmastime; all was jolly and bright with the gentle mixture of fear. What would motherhood be like and would I be good at it? All I knew was that strong desire to mother was within and we would figure it out together. I would grow into motherhood with each breath she took.

Three days before Christmas something happened. I knew something was wrong, I began to miscarry a dream and a fragile life. I could see it every time I looked in the mirror, fear taunting me. I spent a few hours in an ER room longing to hear a heartbeat that was never meant to beat.