7 years at one time seemed like a very long time. Now it seems like I took a breath and between the inhalation and the exhalation 7 years has past. The photo is the bush I planted 7 years ago, to remember the life that never came to be. I bought this bush because it blooms in March and gives berries in October, March when I had the miscarriage and October when the baby would have been born. Then the silly thing never bloomed, for 7 long years. Then this spring there are blooms. They are small and unassuming. Little balls of pink.
I try not to live in the past, it is easy for thoughts to slip back and relive experiences, or try to 'fix' them to the way I want them to have happened, and I really to work on not letting that become what I do. That said this spring has been harder, while I no longer look at 6 and 7 year olds and feel pain, I am feeling this longing that will not be filled. We are done having children, I will be 45 in 2 months, and I really don't want to have another 3 year old in my house. (Let's ignore the fact that I have heard many accounts of how teenagers are very much like 3 year olds only able to drive) But none of that is a salve to my heart that is still a little fractured from that loss.
Maybe in another 7 years, you know when I'm dealing with a 16 year old boy, this anniversary won't hurt at all. It doesn't hurt that much now I'm more bruised than fractured, 6 years ago was a very different story.