If you told me a year ago I'd be pregnant on our third wedding anniversary, I would have told you you were crazy.
If you told me four months ago I would no longer be pregnant but my milk would still come in on our third wedding anniversary, I would have said the same thing.
I remember being four years old and watching my brother play tennis with his new friend.
If you would have told four year old Jamie she was going to date that friend one day, she would have said something along the lines of "ew gross, boys are icky".
When I was eight years old, my brother brought that same friend to my birthday party.
If you would have told eight year old Jamie that she would go on to marry that friend, she would have laughed and ran away as quickly as she could.
I was twelve when I fell in love with him.
If you had told twelve year old Jamie that she would have that friend's baby, she would have lost her damn mind.
And if you had mentioned that five months into that pregnancy she would have to say goodbye to their first child due to something that hasn't even been reported in literature yet, she would have said "that would never happen".
But it did.
It happened exactly one week before that third anniversary.
And four year old Jamie can't believe that the six year old she watched play tennis for hours was sitting next to her when the Doctor gave them the news.
Eight year old Jamie can't believe that the boy-meets-girl story people love to hear about had to experience such a tragedy.
Twelve year old Jamie can't believe that the boy she had such a crush on suddenly had to endure such a deep pain that she couldn't help but feel responsible for.
That she caused this incredible man to lose his first child; a child she was responsible for keeping safe for nine months until she was ready to make her way into this world.
I've never been as grateful for that man as I have been over the past few weeks.
Driving me to doctor appointments and waking up early on off days to inquire about any new developments.
Holding my hand as I laid in pain the day before we said goodbye.
Lying on the couch next to me, putting me to bed, administering my meds, driving me to the hospital at 5am, and waiting outside the surgery door.
Accepting the footprints of our little girl from the Surgeon for safe keeping.
Being off work so I didn't have to be alone at night.
Packing up the room so I didn't have to go down there and be reminded of all we were preparing for.
The greatest human I have ever known had to go through something I would never wish upon a single soul.
But he did it with grace and compassion and, if at all possible, just enough of a sense of humor to keep me from losing my mind.
And even though neither of us remembered our third anniversary until about three days ago, I do know this much.
For someone I never thought I could love more, it suddenly became possible.
And for him to always feel safe and be happy is the LEAST I could ever ask for.
To the man that has already been the most amazing father to our first daughter, I promise to always remind you of how incredible you are.
Because I know that's the one thing Raya knew before she made her way to heaven.
And while getting blood work done is not the way I thought we would be spending our anniversary, there's no one else I'd rather walk through this chapter of life with.