Once you come up on a year, suddenly everything is an anniversary of some kind. We were at the park yesterday for my niece’s second birthday, and I kept remembering her first birthday, playing volleyball and starting to black out every time I exerted myself and eventually having to quit (despite the fact that I was over the moon that people were willing to play volleyball). Sharing knowing glances with my husband because we had this crazy awesome secret.
Yesterday, we headed to the pool at that same park. Putting on my swimsuit, I looked in the mirror to see that faint shadow of a line connecting my belly button to my pubic bone. I was taken right back to the first moment I saw that line. It was a few days before this party last year, and it was the first indication I had that I was pregnant. I hadn’t tested yet, but I knew once I saw that line appear on my tummy, that something new was happening, and I was overjoyed.
A year later, that line is still there – a physical mark declaring what I have lost. Most days I resent it. I feel like it’s taunting me, refusing to let me put this loss away. But somehow yesterday, I found myself wishing that someone would notice it. Maybe just for a moment. As the world marches on around me, I wished for someone to see that this episode that happened so long ago that nobody talks about was, in fact, real. And my body still carries it.