It's been 8 weeks since Morgan left us. I wake up every Saturday morning and mark her "birthday". I think of how old she'd be. Of what she'd look like now. While those thoughts are somewhat of a fantasy, they're not really upsetting until I snap back to reality and think that she should still be in my belly, rolling and kicking away. Will I ever be able to really enjoy Saturdays again? How long until I lose track of exactly how many weeks it's been? Will it be like it is for parents of living children -- 2 weeks, 6 weeks, 6 then 18 months, 3 years?
This weekend, I marked week 8. Eight weeks gone, yet eight weeks still until term. I think one of the worst parts now of my losing Morgan at 20 weeks is the symmetry of time. I found out about my little stowaway when I was not quite five weeks pregnant. We lost her at not quite 21, so we were aware of her presence for 16 weeks. She's been gone half as long as we knew about her. When the other half of that time has passed, we still won't be quite at her due date. Twenty weeks with her, twenty weeks without her. Then, a lifetime without her.
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