a whole bunch of different thoughts

Part of my soul has been ripped from my body, and the whole world is just dim.

For most, it is a story.  It is a blog, a facebook page.  It is pictures of a beautiful child. 

But for me, it is my story.  It is my life.

Most of the time I don’t feel the gravity of what has happened.  The reality is too heavy.  Life must be lived moment to moment.  Because the reality that she is gone is too much.  It hurts in a way that is indescribable.

There are moments when it hits me though.  When I think, “Good God she isn’t coming back.”  When the thought comes that “My child is dead.”

Dead.

I have kissed her for the last time.

And OH my GOD she was perfect.  Soft, new, gorgeous, perfect.  And mine. 

I don’t know what color her eyes were.  That bothers me probably more than it should.  What matters is her incredible spirit.  But what color were her eyes?

I walk around, never focusing, and rarely believing anything is real.  It cannot be.  A child, born into a family who loved her more than anything, who would have given her everything, who never would have let anyone harm a hair on that wonderful head, that child cannot be taken from her parents, from her mother who is put to sleep to get her out and save her life, and her father who stood outside that room waiting for her.  She cannot be taken from them. 

I will wake up someday. 

I worked puzzles.  For weeks after the day she was born.  I couldn’t just sit around sobbing all the time.  So I worked puzzles.  And I read about other parents who lost their babies.  And I watched Parks and Rec, because somehow in those days it managed to make me laugh.  I watched them over and over.  It was the only thing that didn’t make it worse.

Now I am back at work.  And I see babies all the time.  And I hear people talk about them--about their babies, about other babies.  About what would look good on their daughter and if what’s her face had her baby yet.  It is everywhere.  Babies, and people talking about children.  And you don’t notice it until your child has been ripped away from you.

And why was she again?  Why?

What a gorgeous six month old she would be.  I don’t put pictures of her up because I am terrified someone will steal them.  Maybe that’s crazy, but I don’t care.  I know people do it, people who have never lost a child, but join support groups for God knows what reason, searching for love or attention I guess.  But if I ever found my child’s picture somewhere with someone else claiming to be her mother I would lose my shit.  She was absolutely stunning, and she would just be the prettiest six month old princess. 

Do people think someone “gets over” such a loss?  Does anyone think I feel better now?  I cry less.  I move more.  I still feel awful.  I still miss her every second. 

I will wake up someday.  Even if I don’t, even if this life is real or blah blah blah, I will be with her again.  That much I know. 

People always say the love for your child is amazing, that it is unbelievable how much you can love them.  And fuck is it true.  I cannot believe how much I love her.  I cannot believe that much love can exist in the world, let alone inside one person.  She is the love of my life. 

I don’t want to be bereaved mother anymore.  I just want to be mother.  I just want my daughter.  Here. 

I wonder sometimes what people see from the outside.  I’m such a mess on the inside.  I feel anger and sadness and so much love all at the same time constantly.  I can’t remember anything.  Half the time when I’m talking I’m not sure what the hell I’m saying.  The other day I just started talking in French and didn’t even know it.  John was like, “Did you just speak French?”  And I honestly didn’t realize it.  I just, am a mess.

But I am going to wake up.  And she’s just going to be here.  It has to happen that way.

Period.

"Today, you are really gone.

I miss you so much and my heart breaks.

It is not beautiful today.

It is not sweet sadness.

It is frantic, and felt through gritted teeth.

In moments, I want to cry out the worst words.

But, I do it silently, mouth open, no sound.

You can't hear me say those things.

I pray (scream) you are watching me.

Knowing how much I miss you.

If I knew all along you would die, 

I would be pregnant with you again.

Just to have those moments of holding you."

Catherine Bayly

(to linger on hot coals)