Well, here I am. Finally surrounded by furniture all my own, and my own things: things I have chosen and some I have been given. But all things that hold a special place in my heart: things I love.
But yet, there are pieces missing...
The just 'going on two year old': whom is never mentioned but always there. I can see him with his bright blonde curls and blue eyes: and I say "him" because I have always thought of "him" as the first boy child. I have never discussed "Gabriel" on this blog for many reasons: mostly because I feel so uncomfortable. I feel my pregnancy, brief as it was, wasn't legitimate: I didn't have the positive pregnancy test, barely any pregnancy symptoms and it was virtually over before it began. The pregnancy that never happened until it was over. Almost two years later, and I still don't know how or why it ended: choices that I made at the time, which I would repeat today. I chose to lose our baby in our home surrounded with our love. I remember sitting crying on the stairs, knowing what was happening, but also knowing that to go to a hospital would mean more intrusion and that our creation would be simply counted as "chemical pregnancy" or worse, as a "spontaneous abortion".
Another reason I don't speak about it a lot on here, is because it drives me crazy when I visit other's blogs and they have memorials to their lost babies listing their all their miscarriage details from date to weight (if applicable). Now I have always respected their choices to do whatever they like with their blog, but I won't comment/follow religously if that sort of stuff is up there. To close to the bone I guess. And thus I have chosen not have the same sort of memorial here in my own space: I prefer to keep the memorial to myself, tucked away in some shadowy, mystical corner of my mind and heart. A place for Gabriel alone, which will always be his.
In fact the only reason I have written something now was because it has been 2 years since we lost him. And well, no matter however brief, how illegitmate his stay on earth was to others, he deserves at the very least, a blog entry devoted simply to him. He is an important part of my life story: my glimpse of something beautiful and precious which I fear I will never have again. I won't say that I am ok with it, but I am living with it.
Living, breathing, surviving.
The story of my life.
Please note: I would have gone to seek medical help if I had any complications. In this case, as I was young, fit and healthy, I saw no need to go to the doctors/hospital. Early term miscarriages are very common.