I have worked so hard to move on with my life. I try to not look back. I hold little regrets.
But I can't deny: I tried. I yearned. I ached. I hoped to be a mother.
Once we decided to live as a childless couple, I did my best to eradicate myself of all evidence of a hoped for baby. At first, it was how I dealt with the pain. I couldn't stand the reminders I was surrounded with.
After a while, it felt freeing.
But even then, I still found myself hanging one to one thing, well, two things.
The blue blanket was the very first one I learned to crochet on. When we first decided to adopt, we had the option to say if we wanted just a boy or a girl. At that time, (maybe because I have such a need for control), we decided to look for a boy. As I sewed around the blanket, I could picture our son in it. Rocking him in my arms.
After some time, we felt it best to broaden our search to either a boy or a girl. So when I saw the purple camo blanket, I knew I needed it, just in case we were blessed with a little girl. As before, I pictured our daughter swaddled in it.
Over the years, I've had many opportunities to gift these blankets. But I always push them to the bottom of my pile and tell myself I will deal with them later.
Once again, I find myself with the perfect opportunity to gift the blue one to a little boy. Furthermore, a little boy I already love.
But I don't know if I can do it.
The little blanket means so much to me and I worry no one will understand its importance.
The love that went into it.
The tears it dried.
To them, it'll just be a blanket.
But to me, it was a dream.
It is the only thing I have left to show that we tried to be parents.
I just don't know that I can let go of that yet.
Others may ignore or forget that we were almost parents, but I never will.