I now know that this due date was way off, I have female problems and at first didn't realize I was even pregnant. So even though this date isn't accurate, I still consider it my due date. My doctor didn't get a chance to do the anatomy scan and issue a new due date. My uterus ruptured before that happened.
I remember the first August 8th after she died. I thought I may die myself. I did not want to face that day. I wanted to stay in bed all weekend. My husband's side of the family was having a reunion that weekend. One which we didn't plan on going to since I was supposed to be delivering a baby. But the baby had already been delivered, and buried, so we went to the reunion. No one probably knew it, but I was dying inside.
This is my third August 8th without her, and to be honest I didn't realize the date until late last night. I didn't even really think about it.
When you lose a baby, it seems that your life is made up on dates: The day you found out your were pregnant. The day you told your parents. The day you first had an ultrasound. The day you found out the sex. The day you were due. The day they died. The day you buried them... Dates.
The first year after you lose them you remember each and every date with painful precision. This time last year I was (fill in the blank). It seems like we torture ourselves with these dates. We seem to think that if we don't
I've come to realize that a day is just a day. August 8th isn't any different that August 7th or August 9th. It's just a day. I don't miss her any more on August 8th than I do other days of the year.
I choose not to give those dates any power in my life. Instead I chose to remember my child however and whenever I want.