My lucky number seven, Jada. ♡ always Mom.

I thought I was going through menopause. My periods stopped,

I was tired, had a strange empty feeling, and experienced hot-flash-like moments. In my mind, I was far too young for that.

After a week, I woke up and thought: I’m going to buy a pregnancy test. These are the exact same symptoms.
Dicho, hecho..

Two lines. Instantly.

I went silent.
I hadn’t expected this. Getting pregnant naturally at forty-five.

But I also went silent because this was my seventh pregnancy, and it had already gone wrong five times before. Can I handle it if this doesn’t end well again?

Positive as I am, I told myself I was going to enjoy everything that would come.

Within two weeks, I already knew your name. I had seen you in my dream. I was already thinking about how I would love you, how I would spoil you. I told your brother, my inner circle “I am pregnant”, and everyone was ecstatic.

A baby. We’re having a baby.

It was tense. I was older, had a medical indication, and was participating in the Lord Trial, where you weren’t actually supposed to get pregnant.

Our case was discussed, and an entire team would be monitoring the progress.
Tests were done. Then came the first ultrasound.

Your heart was beating strongly.
But I had to keep in mind that it could still go either way.

For weeks, I spoke to you, about you, and told you how welcome you were.

And then, one morning, I woke up with tears in my eyes.
I called the hospital and told them I wanted an ultrasound.
Because you had come to say goodbye in my dream that night, and I wanted to know if it was really true.

We were told to come in immediately.
There was no heartbeat…..

My greatest fear had become reality.
Our spiritual bond was very strong as you came to say goodbye.

I went home. Crying, resigned, broken with grief.

This wasn’t fair. Not again.

Because I was already past 12 weeks, they wanted my body to let go of you naturally. Emotionally, that was what I wanted too. I spoke to you and asked you not to take too long.

That same afternoon, the contractions started.
The pain was excruciating.

A delivery, all over again.
Only this time, without a happy ending.

I called the insurance company to ask how things worked regarding burial or cremation.
But because you were not yet at twenty-four weeks, I had to pay for everything myself.
They did want you for medical research. But that would have meant surrendering you immediately.

I couldn’t do that.

And flushing you down the toilet, as so many women are forced to do, was not an option for me either.

Spiritually, I asked my “cousin’ if he would look after you. And if I could cremate you at his grave.
That is what I did.

It was the most beautiful closure I could have given you.

Because it is inhuman how miscarriages under a certain number of weeks are almost brushed aside.

As if a stopped heart doesn’t count. As if there was no love yet. While I had already shared so much with you.

I still miss you terribly, and I love you so much that I am still crying as I write this, nearly seven years later.

You were my number seven.
My lucky number.
My spiritual number.

Love you, Jada

♡ always Mom