September 11 will be a date that is forever etched in my heart, not only because of its historical significance but because it’s the day I saw your lifeless little body on the ultrasound screen. I couldn’t hold back the sobs. My chest suddenly felt heavier than a ton of bricks.

I’ve been here before. I’ve had losses, but none this late. I didn’t feel their movements or hear so many strong heartbeats at my checkups. Your siblings felt you move and squealed with utter excitement.

I want to wake from this nightmare, but it seems it’s my new reality. Life without you. I won’t hear your little cry or hold your little fingers. I won’t get to kiss your little cheeks while I tell you how much I love you. I won’t get to memorize the details of your face or decide which features mirrored me or your daddy.

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I won’t get to nurse you back to sleep or sing you songs about how much Jesus loves you. I won’t get to introduce you to your siblings, who have been tracking your progress for the 17 weeks that I carried you and ask how you’re doing 500 times a day.

I won’t get to be excited when it’s the day you leave the womb, which is rapidly approaching as it finalizes the end of everything I thought that was going to be.

My insides hurt like never before. My heart shattered into a million pieces. I carried you for 17 weeks, but you’ll be in my heart forever.

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I might never understand this pain on this side of eternity, but when it’s my time to enter Heaven’s gates, I can’t help but picture Jesus greeting me as He shows me the amazing little one who changed me yet again.

You changed my body. You changed my life. You will always have a piece of my heart.

Written on September 12, the day after it was confirmed my baby was gone, and a week before my baby’s body was no longer in mine.

Originally published on the author’s blog