November 13 comes and goes each year without much of a thought to most people. But not to me.
November 13, 2003 was the day I lost the eleven week old baby I was carrying. Miscarriage was something that happened to other people, not to me. I had already had four pregnancies, resulting in four healthy babies, so I automatically assumed that my fifth pregnancy would yield the same. Sadly, it didn't.
I was very surprised at the fact that I was having a miscarriage. I was also very surprised at how much it hurt. It was, in fact, much like being in labor. I left the hospital feeling like I do after I have a baby, just, without the baby. I think the saddest part of the whole ordeal was being wheeled out with nothing in my arms. My arms literally ached.
It's been seven years. I really only dwell on what "might have been" two days a year. November 13, the day he or she died, and May 30, the day he or she would have been born. I still miss that baby. I wonder if it was a boy or girl and what he or she would have been like.
But I take great comfort in knowing that he/she lived every day of the life God had planned. I don't understand it, but I trust Him.
One day I will meet my baby and hold him or her and together we will worship the One who gave us life. What a day that will be!