Dear Bruce: A story of love lost

Dear Bruce,

As we approach the second anniversary of "you" I feel like I'm bursting with the need to share. A long long time ago, back in 2013, I was in an awful work situation. All I requested for my birthday was a new job. Alas, I did not get a job offer on a lovely silver platter for my birthday. Instead, I was treated to dinner at Anthony's by your father. The smells were awful to me, and I joked to him that I must be pregnant. We both laughed and moved along.

The day after my birthday, I took a pregnancy test and got that new job I wanted. I was pregnant. My new job was to be your mom forever. I called your dad, who had left for work only 3 minutes earlier, and we celebrated over the phone. This was by far the most distracted day at work I've ever experienced. We were elated and terrified, because the timing wasn't quite right, but it was going to be awesome anyway.

For my birthday weekend, your dad took me to the WA coast where we walked on the beach with Lucy dog for days. We planned everything we could. We named you "Bruce" so that we could use a code word in public. Suddenly, we were parents. Our priorities shifted in an instant. I cried and teared up numerous times that weekend, mostly out of sheer excitement. (Partially out a financial-based terror.) It was, by far, the most perfect weekend I can recall. It was the beginning of us as parents. It was the beginning of you as our child. We were bursting with excitement. We even used crabshells in the sand to make our birth announcement that weekend. This was the pinnacle of joy. I have never experienced such pure, innocent, uninhibited excitement before or since then.

We returned home from the trip on Sunday night. Tired, weary from the trip, and I just wasn't feeling right. I went to the bathroom and when I wiped I saw blood. And I knew. From that first instant. I knew it was over before it had ever really began. I felt like my world was shattered. I knew I'd never be the same again. I knew I owed every single one of my friends who had miscarried an apology.

I stayed up all night that night crying. I didn't really need to see the doctor to know, but I went anyway. I cried in the doctor's office with the nurse who drew my blood. I bawled when I saw the bloodstain I had left where I sat. I sobbed into your fathers arms all night. I spent most of the week at home and attempted to return to work on Thursday. I made it to 10 am before going home.

I spent all of May at home and never returned to that awful job. I owe you a debt of gratitude. Thank you for reminding me that life is fragile, for showing me that pure joy is worth the potential downfall, for giving me a glimpse of what life would feel like with my future children, for helping me to understand what Mother's Day is really about, for forcing me to evaluate my work situation and my priorities. Thank you for helping me find me.

I'll always be your mother, Bruce.

Love always,

Mama