I remember it like it was yesterday, even though what I’m about to share happened several years ago. 

It was late and the Dallas skyline was visible from my hospital room. I remember gazing at the neon lights, the towering skyscrapers against a dark, velvety sky, and the hum of cars just beyond the walls of the hospital. 

The smell of fresh flowers filled my room along with stuffed animals and toys. It was now well past visiting hours and everyone had gone home to be with their own families. That’s when it really hit me. I was on my own. No husband or partner to share this moment with, and I knew that life would never be the same. 

There I was holding our beloved baby girl. She is a tiny ray of sunshine to this very day and I will always cherish those memories, just she and I. But for me to try to paint this as an entirely blissful experience—well, that would be a lie. 

A note to you, dear reader, for full disclosure. I really don’t like talking about this part of the story because it gives so much “ick”, but I’ve made peace with this being a part of my story and as such, an important lesson. 

Six weeks earlier, it was confirmed that my husband had been having an affair with a woman he had been “helping” and who regularly visited our home with her child, which was great I thought, as her child and our oldest were around the same age. Over time, I found myself feeling more and more insecure, especially being nearly 8 months pregnant. I didn’t feel like myself, physically or emotionally. Plus, it seemed suspicious for them to be together so much in our home, even after I had gone to bed. When I finally worked up the nerve to say something, my husband would blame my suspicions on pregnancy hormones he explained were making me feel “territorial”. 

I felt like I was losing my mind. 

He continued to ignore my concerns until one day I found—let’s just say, irrefutable proof. But as awful as it was, I finally had an answer which meant that I was no longer questioning my own sanity, even if it did up-end my whole world. 

My then-husband told me that he no longer wanted to be with me and he would be staying with his girlfriend indefinitely. I think what shocked me the most was the fact that he was so unapologetic about it. I chalked it up to him being infatuated and tried my best to deal. My only priority at that point was preparing to have our baby the following month and taking care of our then 3-year-old son.

I was fortunate to have grown up with two parents who were, and still are, crazy about each other. The way they were openly affectionate with each other used to annoy the crap out of me, but I also knew deep down that it was real love. And I also knew that’s exactly what I wanted too. That was my dream. 

When I look back at that night in the hospital, it was one of the most magical experiences of my life, but it was also devastating and deeply painful. Like so many things in life, grief and joy can coexist—and that’s okay. 

Life has a very interesting way of knocking us down, while also showing us glimmers of hope. I still remember so many moments in the days after my baby’s birth. Just looking at her and listening to her little voice brought me so much joy and reminded me that there is still so much beauty in the midst of heartache. 

Now when I think about that particular night in the hospital, I can accept that it wasn’t what I had hoped for in the sense of having an intact family to welcome this beautiful baby girl; the same way I acknowledge the bond between me and my girl was formed in those first moments of euphoria and profound loss. And it is a powerful bond, indeed.