Have you ever had an aha moment that blew your mind? Like when the parallels between two seemingly unrelated and rather insignificant occurrences explode into your consciousness like a doggone firecracker. And when you SEE both or either of them through new eyes. Eyes that are more compassionate and knowing. Eyes that are capable of stripping away the illusions, so that you can see the lessons that have been hiding.

I have.

It’s been 4 years since I miscarried our second pregnancy. You sometimes hear how women who have experienced a loss can tell you exactly how old their baby would be today. Not me. In fact, I had to sit here and count backwards to even remember what year it was. Then I remembered what month it was – April. This month. April 7, 2015 was the day we didn’t hear our baby’s heartbeat. I remember what I was wearing. I remember the instant my own heart stopped beating. I remember rejecting my husband’s outstretched hand as he offered to help me sit up, then saying, “Oh well.” Then having to endure waiting in the exam room until some nurse came in and told me it wasn’t my fault, when all I wanted to do was to get out of there. I started drinking again that night.

Because I could.

That day changed me. It was the day that I became a statistic. It was the day that I found out how much easier it was to close the pain away than it was to feel it. It was the day that something was taken away from me without my permission. Something that I wanted so badly, that it had to be literally scraped out of my body because I didn’t want to let it go.

And today, 4 years and 10 days later, I chose to give up something that I wanted really badly. I gave it up because the situation wasn’t right. I honored my energy and held fast to my boundaries. No, another physical pregnancy was not involved.

I broke the chain. It feels like the end of lifetimes of loss.

Without having had that miscarriage, I wouldn’t have my son. From the second I laid eyes on him, I knew him. He knew me.

And I have no doubt in my mind, whatsoever, that what lies ahead is more than I could’ve ever imagined. I’ll write more later. Or maybe I won’t. These are the words that were ready to be born tonight.