On December 4, I ran an amazing "unofficial" half marathon in 2 hours and 5 minutes. It was my longest "long run" since I was able to resume my running after the marathon.
It was not easy but it was pleasant, relaxing, rewarding, elating . . . I could go on and on.
I loved every minute.
I had an wonderful afternoon alone with my husband. We had family pictures made later with my parents and brothers. I was on cloud nine. Life was great and I was happy.
Then all that changed in an instant.
I knew it before I was even sure. I think my heart knew something was wrong before my body or my head realized it; before it was confirmed.
I spent a sleepless night sick with worry and endless thoughts of "what-ifs". It seemed like an eternity before I was able to get to the doctors office Monday morning and then had to wait for my ultrasound.
I knew it before I saw, but seeing my little "Bean" lifeless on the screen, no precious heart-beating, no tiny movements, was what finally sent me over the edge and I gave into the grief.
It's heart had quit beating about a week before.
How did this happen?
According to every statistic there was less than a 4% chance. I had no complications. My little "Bean" was in perfect condition at my previous ultrasound. It was moving. It had a STRONG heartbeat.
I did everything in my power to provide the "perfect" environment for my growing baby. I ate the right foods. I eliminated anything remotely harmful. I was in excellent physical condition.
There were no answers to my whys and my what-ifs?
What followed was a lost week, a week where nothing mattered.
I was in pain physically, emotionally I was distraught, mentally I was drained. I went through the motions. I floated through the days. I attempted to make sense of it all. I tried to get on with life as usual, but my heart was aching.
I was surprised by how much love I felt for this baby that had been growing inside me. To some it was only a fetus but to me it was my baby. I had plans and dreams for this child. I loved it with all of my heart already. I could not wait to hold it my arms. Now that will never happen.
I knew life would go on; it always does. I knew I would be ok. . . eventually. But I had to pull myself together. I had to deal with my grief. I had to cope with the loss.
I am so thankful for all the love and support Shawn gave me that week and continues to give me. He not only held our life together by keeping up the daily routines when I could not, but he spent countless hours holding me, comforting me, doing anything he could to make me feel better emotionally and physically.
By the end of the week I knew I wanted to continue on with my goal.
To keep my commitment to run my 900 miles in 9 months.
It would just a different journey than the one I set out on in the beginning.
It would now be a path of healing.
