Day 1

 Dear S,

It's been less than a day since our final walk and I miss you. This morning, I had cheesy eggs for breakfast and the cheese tasted like pickle juice. It's a gorgeous 74-degree day outside but the colors in the trees read as faded and distant. My cup was full and now there's a huge hole in the bottom.

I'm taking my meds at night like I'm supposed to. I started a couple of days ago when I couldn't stop crying. This loss reminds me of my miscarriages. The first one, I had a feeling it wouldn't stick so I never got super excited about the pregnancy. But I wanted it. The second one felt wonderful. I was sure we would meet this baby. The hormones were like a runner's high. When I started hemorrhaging, I was calm. I knew it was over. When I was in the hospital, I looked for my baby in the clots. I wanted to hold it and say goodbye. I wanted it to know that it was loved, and always would be. But I never found it, and I never knew why I lost it.

I was scared that I might lose you again. I didn't want to believe it, but I had a feeling we wouldn't stick. Thank you for letting me say goodbye. Thank you for letting me hold you and tell you I love you to your face. 

I could tell you were holding back tears and I wanted so badly to kiss them from your eyes. But we were strong for each other. We didn't let each other cry, even though I told you that you could. You said there were 7 billion people on the planet and you're just one. But right now, it doesn't feel that way. You're a needle in the haystack and all I want right now is my shiny object back. Everyone else is just a husk in comparison.

I've got Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester on the brain this morning. Hence the web address to this blog. I hope some day I'll see you again. I'm glad I met you, too. I'm glad I know you exist. I'm glad you have her to hold at night.

Rest well, my love.