I was warned that it would be hard.
I got up this morning and set off on my run, willing myself to celebrate the day and not let it get to me. After all, it's the first day of fall, typically my favourite day of the year. There is so much to be thankful for.
There is so much to miss.
I wasn't going to say anything. I don't want more words of condolence; everything that can be said has been said, months ago already.
A lifetime ago.
But today is my due date, and one of the hardest things to deal with is that no one knows. I keep breaking down for no apparent reason. I want to cry and scream and rage. I want to huddle in a corner and rock and sob and maybe start pulling my hair or sucking my thumb.
I want to not be empty.
And I need the day acknowledged, even if none of my children has ever been born on their actual due date. Even if it's just a number on the calender. A number that means little to anyone but me.
Today is my due date.
I just wanted you to know.