I told myself three years is too long to still remember. I told myself I wouldn’t say anything this year. I’d just ignore it. I’d stop thinking about it. I’ve put out too many depressing posts this year. There doesn’t need to be any more. For that, I apologize. I can’t seem to stop myself today.

Last year I tried to ignore it. I fretted before hand that I’d fall apart, like the years prior. I didn’t though. I didn’t fall apart. I also didn’t not remember. A lot of you saw me on this day last year. Twenty or so of us even had dinner on this date last year. See, last year I was at BlogHer, so it was easy to shove it to the back of my head. I cried a bit in a bathroom, but I didn’t say anything. Save for the four amazing people at my table that night who let me cry in public for a minute, and the one person who already knew, who squeezed my hand each time she saw me, I kept it quiet.

It made it easy to not think about the What-If’s all day.

It feels wrong though to not say something. To not remember. She was my baby after all. For 14 weeks, three years ago she was my baby. Until she wasn’t.

I have spent all day wondering. Wondering what she’d look like. What she’d be like. If she’d be girly, or more tom boy-ish. If she’d be a mama’s girl, or a daddy’s girl. Wondering if we still would have had Harrison. Wondering if we’d still be together if I hadn’t lost my shit. None of that is her fault, it just is.

They don’t prepare you for that, you know? Loss. Heartache. There is no rule book. No, how to, for dummies.

I have to remember. Till the day I die, I will always remember her, even when I one day, learn to stop mentioning it out loud. Because even though, she was never more than a few little plastic sticks with two lines and one ultrasound picture, she was still my daughter. My Piper.

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