No birthdays, no walking, no milestones. D says he will miss her no less or more on
her birthday than any other day so therefore, it is just another day. And he’s right about not missing her less or
more. But just another day it is not. It
is the anniversary of the day she stopped moving in me. It is the day that I realized her heart
stopped, the day that still makes me feel as though I failed. It is the day that I held an angel, when I
watched her pinkish face slowly over hours turn a purplish hue of blue. It is the day that she changed the world with
two tiny little hands, two sweet little feet, two soft cheeks, a smile I will
never see, a cry I will never hear, and a heart that never beat outside the
womb. It is the day that my outlook on
life changed forever. And though I know
that it is inconsequential, I think now of how I will never know what eye color
she had. Silly really, of all the things
I will never know, I wonder about this one a lot.
So, there will be no one year birthday for my baby. Her older sisters will hopefully continue to
turn ages older each year, but each year she will remain a newborn angel frozen
in my mind’s eye like an antique vignette.
I still feel very empty without her.
I’ve had nearly a whole year to heal, and, while I don’t know if it’s
healing or coping that occurred, I still feel such sadness. There is a quote about character I’ve read
recently; “Strength of character isn’t always about how much you can handle
before your break, but how much you can handle after you break.” I wonder if this trial of life is showing in
me strength or something else. I do not,
on many occasions, feel very strong at all.
I feel tired, lost, sad and quiet.
I feel dejected. And yet, I feel
loved deeply, missed, and worried about.
Indeed, I miss the “me” that was, but I cannot find her among the
wreckage of my heart. I sometimes feel
as though if only I could cry again, I’d feel better. But often there are no tears anymore, only a
deep, dark, and inky sadness. The weight of an angel is heavy, though she has
wings.
In four days, she will never turn 11 months. How can stop counting?
I feel bad sometimes because I want to get in touch with friends but lack the energy and stamina to pursue it. It is not laziness, but more self preservation. My world has both grown and shrank since last spring. I have met so many people and yet I prefer not to leave my house. I can't explain it. It just feels like work to get up and go about life. If I could just stay to myself, take pictures of the world and love my girls and D, would that be rude? Yet I love my friends, old and new and don't want to lose them. It is not that I am unfriendly, I am actually quite caring and giving. But caring for others as deeply as I do and showing it to them, and surrounding myself by them is exhausting. I care. I do. I care and so I feel the desire to withdraw because it's just so exhausting to feel so deeply all the time and since I feel so deeply for her each day it wears on me. I love and therefore want to share, but sharing means being surrounded by others, and worrying about their well-beings and the whole cycle of love is vicious and exhausting.
How has nearly a year gone by? Sweet angel baby how I miss you.
