One year of Evelyn.

On December 23, 2020, the end of an all-around terrible year, I woke up at about 6:30 am to take our dogs out. I walked into the bathroom first and grabbed a pregnancy test, already feeling the disappointment rise up before I took it. It was the last month of trying to conceive before we were deciding to take a break. The full year of drugs and shots and surgery with the pandemic hellscape as the backdrop to it all had me burnt out.

I knew it was probably too early to test, and the trigger shot I had done that month could cause a false positive. I took a test anyways because it was almost Christmas and honestly, I needed to know for sure that I could drink. I needed help to get through another holiday without a baby. I set the test down and took the dogs outside.

When I came back, I barely glanced at it. I didn’t want to confirm what I already knew which was that another year had gone by without getting pregnant. I almost threw it away, but something made me look closer: a very faint second line. I stared in disbelief.

That was the first moment I had with Evelyn; a shaky, tear-filled moment in the bathroom of our old house. A moment of disbelief but also a moment of hope, a hope that this was really happening for our family, that adding a child to our lives could possibly become a reality.

Since that moment exactly one year ago, our lives have been so vastly changed in every way possible that it’s hard to even fathom. As I sit here, two days before Christmas without our sweet Evelyn but with her sister kicking away in my belly, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by the unfairness of it all, that we will never have both our girls here together. Of course, I’m overwhelmingly grateful to be pregnant again, but this baby doesn’t make the pain of Evelyn’s death any less.

It has been one year of loving our first born child. It’s nothing like I had ever imagined for our lives. Every day, I love Evelyn more and more. All we have are just moments of her, moments where we talk to her, feel her presence. It’s been one year of embracing every moment I can get with my firstborn daughter, moments while she was here and moments now that she’s gone.

I don’t really have anything profound to say other than it’s a particularly emotional day, though there are so many days that hold more weight than others. It’s been one year of knowing Evelyn would be in our lives forever, however that looks for us now.

Happy one year of knowing you and loving you, our Evie girl.