*To my precious pregnant friends, or anyone else for whom miscarriage is a trigger, please refrain from reading this post if you have any inkling that it will upset you. I appreciate your love and support, and regardless of what I’m going through know that I rejoice with you.*
As I signed my name at the bottom of the discharge paper, my eyes fixed on those two words. I held myself together long enough to make it to the doors, but as soon as the wind hit my face the tears came hard and heavy.
I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t process a thing.
I couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
It wasn’t a dream. It was my harsh, cruel, and excruciatingly painful reality.
We had lost our baby and my heart was shattered into a million pieces.
Into the mud rolled the big fat truck, and his big important wheels got STUCK! His heavy-duty dump-truck tires were sunk down deep in muck and mire.
MUCK AND MIRE?!!!!!
Without fail, my 4 yo will always, always pause and place extra emphasis on this part of the Little Blue Truck. She thinks it’s hilarious! I typically burst into uproarious laughter with her, but after reading it this last time it hit me in a different way.
Sunk down deep in muck and mire.
Leave it to a children’s book, granted an excellent one, to give me pause as I stopped to reflect upon the current condition of my heart and mind.