Fourth of July 2014 was when we announced our pregnancy to my immediate family. My husband offered to take a picture of my mom, dad, sister and I posing together in our patriotic gear, except instead of telling us to say "Cheese!" he told us to say "Julie's pregnant!" He was actually videoing, and captured the second's pause of shock and then excited shrieks of my family. It was perfect. We were all so happy.
There was no doubt in my mind that by this Fourth of July, I'd have a baby in my arms, decked out in red, white, and blue.
But here we all were - Fourth of July 2015 - and no baby. Instead, I actually ran into my parents at the cemetery. I started to get upset thinking of how Dominic should be here with me in little star-spangled overalls, not with red, white, and blue decorations on his grave. But I heard my mother's voice in the back of my mind (without having to tell her how I was feeling and hear the lecture again), saying that I shouldn't be dwelling on "what could have been." So I tried to look towards the future... but all I could think of all day yesterday was if I'd have a baby by next Fourth of July... or at least be pregnant. A few months ago I might have thought "well of COURSE you will," but now I'm not so sure. Months are flying by. The year anniversary of when I lost him is only 3 months away. If the future holds big changes for me, I am not afraid of them. What I am afraid of is repeating the past, reliving this pain, and spending multiple years with empty arms and a broken heart.