I saw my Nepali family last night, first time since losing the baby. I burst into tears. They mean so much to me, but it’s like nothing is the same because I’m not having a baby. There is nothing to be excited and happy for, there is no reason to plan anything, and they will be going back to Nepal in July so even another pregnancy won’t be the same. I lost my chance to share this with them. And then 4 months went by without seeing them, or hearing from them, and I started to think my worth was just in having the baby. Without her, I am just a void of loss and sadness, and no one wants to be around that. No one wants to explain to my 6 year old niece why I’m NOT having a baby anymore, why my belly is so flat, and where the baby went.
But I was also crying because I was happy. Happy to see them, happy they still seemed happy to see me. They are a piece of my heart that was more dear to me than most everything else during college and right after. They gave me Nepal, and Nepali, and sometimes the closest thing to feeling at home to me is the smell of their spices, the rhythm of their language, the taste of chiya.
Four months and I am often slapped upside the head with this overbearing pain, this loss that is defining my heart and tainting my world. I am trying to find a way, a way to look to the future. I am trying to see the light in life without her, but what should/could/would have been is like a ghostly shadow, following me through all of my days, taunting me with its impossible nearness, a nearness forever just out of my reach.