mine {h.s.} | {b3}

CHAPTER FOUR

— CHAPTER FOUR —

october, year one.

Today is not an easy day.

It's the kind of day where I get anxious when I am out of Harry's direct eye line. Around him, I feel safe. Around him, I feel like nothing bad can happen to me. Around him, I feel like I won't lose my baby in the same, horrible way that I did four years ago today.

After the last anniversary, I felt surprisingly good. Most of that was in part due to the man sitting across from me now. We're sitting in the soon to be nursery. Boxes upon boxes of baby furniture are spread out all around us. I'm sitting in a rocking chair, rocking back and forth, watching as Harry spreads out the contents of what will soon be our baby's crib spread out around him. Two nights ago, we'd set up the Snoo basinet to help us get through the first few months of long, sleepless nights.

Ever since we painted the room, we've slowly—but steadily—been putting together the nursery. Little by little, we have realized how absolutely essential it is for us to be prepared for this baby to come and join our family.

Of course, this anniversary, things are different.

I feel just as validated as I did last time. Last time, Harry had made an entire date that was focused on his dedication to helping me through the day. He wanted me to know that as we continue to progress in our own relationship, he sees the baggage that I bring to the table. He doesn't intend on ignoring it, but just on helping me live with that level of pain and suffering. Last year, Harry made it very clear that he has no intention of forgetting how important Harriet is to me.

This time we are both aware of the way that things are different.

Every past anniversary has been about finding a way to cope in a life where I don't have Harriet. Every year, on this day, I remember the life that I could have had if only I hadn't lost Harriet. Suddenly, my dream world doesn't matter. The dream world where I imagined that I didn't lose Harriet, and the world where I wasn't even friends with Harry anymore. None of that mattered. On this day, I can only see the good that would have entered my life had that first pregnancy followed me through.

But, aforementioned, this year things are different.

This year, it's not sadness that consumes me. There's not an ache in my heart that weighs me down. In that respect, last year's anniversary had been everything that I needed. It provided me with all of the tools that I needed to see that my life hasn't begun. This year, the pain is more a fear. It wraps its claws around me in an unanticipated way.

Each year offers a new set of emotions, I'm coming to find. I hadn't known what to expect this year. It was impossible for me to anticipate what kind of consuming emotions would possess me on this day.

Today is the kind of day where I am scared to leave the house because I am scared of all of the uncontrollable elements that could hurt me in the same way that riding in an ambulance did four years ago.

Fortunately, Harry sees that. He understands it to the best of his ability. Part of what I love most about him is the fact that in these instances and occasions in which it is so utterly impossible for him to understand my pain, he is just there for me. This, of course, is something that goes both ways. A long time ago we made the promise that we would be there for each other through it all. Today is no exception. He doesn't understand my pain today. He only sees a fraction of it. Yet he still sits beside me, making a crib for our baby that we will meet in four months. For me he is holding himself together. For me he called the both of us out of work. For me he just holds me tight and doesn't leave my sight. He's calm and sweet and reminds me that there is good in the world.