Looking back at 2019 brings on a tidal wave of emotion.It was the year of everything. The year Kai proposed, the year I fell even more blissfully in love with my fiancé, the year I stepped out of my comfort zone and into some grand, new adventures. I traveled to Mexico, Spain, Japan, Italy, New York, and Portugal, to name just a few. It was the year so many of my wonderful friends said ‘I do’. I had not one but two brilliant bachelorette parties thrown in my honor, miles apart but equally unforgettable. I married the love of my life, surrounded by our closest family and friends. Having my dearest loved ones together for such a happy, sunny celebration was the highlight of my year. At times, busy-time felt like the only kind of time! But some of the most memorable moments were the slower in-betweens. Easter Day spent cycling through the tulip fields, poking at a campfire along the Algarve, summer nights swimming in the Amstel, cozy winter evenings at home with Kai, wedding dress shopping with my sisters, Thanksgiving at my Grandparent’s on the lake. Each year I look back and think, ‘Wow, this past year really was the best,’ and 2019 was no exception. It is by far the most cherished year of my life.But thinking about 2019 also makes me choke with sadness, because it’s the year I got pregnant, the year I spent almost three wonderful months growing our baby, and the year God decided it was not yet the right time for us to have a family.
I felt so incredibly blessed when we got pregnant on our honeymoon. I found out just after my 33rd birthday. Those 10 weeks spent carrying our child were the best 10 weeks of my life. I felt so sick, so extraordinarily exhausted, and so incredibly thankful every. single. day. I whispered the words ‘happy and healthy’ each night into the dark, my pregnancy mantra that ultimately would not manifest. We lost our baby just before Thanksgiving. What followed was an onslaught of medication, hospital visits, and sadness, as my body refused to believe that the pregnancy was no longer viable, despite our little berry’s absent heartbeat. This is hard to write, as even now, I am still experiencing the emotional trauma and physical effects of losing our first child. I don’t have a baby to hold in my arms, but I will always carry those 10 weeks so dearly in my heart. We are healing, but I can’t help but think that a small piece of myself will always be lost – an effervescent dream that I one day hope to realize on the other side of the stars.
So here’s to 2019, the year of everything: an abundance of love, an onslaught of grief. Loss, learning, adventure, and quiet. A new husband, our first child in heaven, and every precious moment in between.