I’ve learned that grief and love can coexist, not as opposites but as two currents running in the same river
Pregnancy after loss is full of contradictions. It is hope that feels cautious, like it might dissolve if you breathe too hard. It is learning to live again inside a body that remembers grief.
I am now officially in my third trimester, and each day brings small signs of life: a flutter, a roll, a hiccup, the steady rhythm of his heart. I am growing a baby I will meet, hold and raise. But I have also carried a baby I never got to meet. For 13 weeks, my body held her. It nurtured her, protected her, grew her placenta, still believing she was safe. And in a way, she was. My husband told me then: “She only ever knew love and warmth”, and that has never left me.
