Today would have been our son's first birthday, but he isn't here with us, we lost him at 10.5 weeks gestation in September 2008. His due date was the 24th of April 2009.
Whenever someone tells me they had a miscarriage and they just can't seem to get over it, I truly sympathise with them and say "it is never easy, but it does get easier". In a sense, it does get easier. But on days like today, it's not easy. It is painful.
Painful because I still have flashbacks of the miscarriage.
Painful because there will be no birth story for him, no joyous announcement, no happy visitors to welcome him into the world.
Painful because we aren't able to hold a warm, squirming little boy in our arms or breathe in the sweetness of him.
Painful because I know that thousands of other women with one year olds are celebrating their babies' first birthdays. All those exquisite little things to plan - the party theme, the cake, the guest list.
Painful because every day we are missing out on watching our son grow and develop his personality.
Painful because I have visions of him crawling, pulling himself up, taking his first steps, reaching out for me and falling on his bum, only to stand up and try again.
Painful because I will never know that little boy who grew inside me for those few precious weeks.
And then there is the pain of not knowing if I will EVER experience those things. It's bad enough that it was all stolen away from me four times, but the boot gets laid in even deeper, the knife twists even harder, when I realise that may never happen. The real kicker is when it happens so easily for other people, especially if they hadn't planned it or they already abuse the children they have.
I think of our little boy every day, without fail. There is a part of me that will never fully heal, I feel like my life is incomplete without him.