I have so many blogs in my head. I don't know if I will get to any of them, because I make myself too busy. Too busy staring off into space. Too busy making excuses, lists, messes. I need to get these messes out of my head and onto paper before I lose them forever.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Sometimes I feel like I am going to break apart. Pieces of me flying in different directions. It doesn't take much to shatter me. It's a horrible feeling, because I think, look at everything I have. This beautiful life I've been given. My beautiful rainbow girl who spins light into everything she does. But I still think, this is wrong. Raising Sophia alone is wrong. Without her sister, without the best friend she never got to meet. I think, since she's all we have left, we will give her everything. We will spoil her and keep her surrounded with love and support. But it's still not enough. We can't buy her the life she was supposed to have.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
When I was 16 weeks pregnant, Mike and I went to Fetal Photos. We have a long DVD of our baby dancing in my belly. She was actually pushing off of my bladder and bouncing from my ribs and back again. She was opening and closing her hand. The tech said she was saying hello. That is the day we found out we were having a daughter. I was speechless. I was ecstatic. I refused to tell anyone because I thought it was a mistake. We waited until our 20 week appointment to tell anyone because I thought the news would change. But after we left Fetal Photos, we went to Target to buy our daughter her first presents. Shoes, of course. I knew from the moment I saw them, that if I had a daughter, I would buy her these tiny ballet slippers. Mike insisted on the sherpa boots, which are identical to a pair I own. We took the shoes home, never thinking that our daughter would not wear them. Not imagining for a second that the shoes would sit unused in a box, on a shelf in a closet.
Seeing these tiny shoes causes me actual physical pain. Remembering the awe of that day. The hope. The blind joy. This is my day 28.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
All Sophia wants to do is play with other kids. And when it's time to go home, she doesn't want to go. And tonight she said, "All I want to do is play with my sister." Because in her eyes, everyone else has a brother or a sister. All of her friends have someone to play with. How do I explain to my 4 year old that the one thing she really wants, we can't give her?
Saturday, October 13, 2012
I'm sitting outside of the Share Walk. I'm in the parking lot of a funeral home, and I feel like I just ran away from a funeral. All week I've been unsure if I would attend the program this year. It looks like I won't. I've been weak and unstable this week. Its starting, the Holidays Without Her. October starts it and it doesn't end until mid-march. I am unable to stay here with all of these families who are also missing their babies. I feel like an outsider, an imposter, and I don't know why. Why can't I belong to this amazing group? Maybe it would help. But I'm sitting in the parking lot instead.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
I feel like I spend a lot of time tip toeing around myself and my feelings. Because I know how crazy I can be and I know how delicate my everyday sanity is. An article about taking pictures of a stillborn baby makes me shake. We didn't take enough pictures. I wanted more, I just wasn't strong enough to say please.
Friday, September 14, 2012
I was just thinking about how much time I spent writing up a birth plan when I was pregnant with Charlotte. How we paid for and went to classes on pregnancy and birth. And how we didn't bother when I was pregnant with Sophia because we knew it was out of our hands. I think about that sometimes, about how sad it is.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Charlotte, my baby girl. My tiny princess. I know it's not your birthday, but I can't stop thinking about you and I had to write it down. This would have been a big week for you. You would be starting Kindergarten. We would have walked you to school, right up to your classroom. Kisses for mommy and daddy, giggles and hugs for Sophia. What clothes would you have worn? What size shoes would you be wearing? I can almost picture you sitting at a tiny desk, listening to your teacher, big, intelligent eyes taking in everything around you. Almost. We were almost there, but instead you were taken away with the wind. Gone in an instant that has turned into an eternity.
Will it always be like this? My lists of what should be, what could have been? You sister is the most amazing thing in the world, but she isn't you. She is not, has never been, a replacement for our little star. I can watch her grow up, see into her eyes, hear her laughter. And I enjoy it. I revel in it. But I cannot help but wonder how similar you two would be. How different. Sophia loves her preschool. She gets to play with other kids, and it reminds me how lonely she is. She talks about you all the time. I hope you know that. I hope you can visit her dreams. I wish she could know you like we did. I wish I knew how to handle having two daughters but only being able to raise one at a time. I hope I never make her feel set aside, I hope she never struggles with being an only. Because I don't think she is an only, but it's so hard to explain that to people when they ask.
I'm sorry that I leave you alone. That I've stopped talking to you and I don't visit your headstone. I feel like you're nowhere and I am struggling with that. I am struggling to believe. I am struggling to keep walking in the right direction, when most days, I don't know up from down. I struggle to be a good mom, when I feel like i'm being punished for losing you. By losing you. I don't know what to believe.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
We're at the zoo. We're sitting in the Aisian Highlands, eating lunch. A small boy, maybe 5 or 6, just climbed up on the barrier fence that's about 3 feet off the ground with a 2 foot fence on top of that- perfectly safe if you're standing on the ground. It's a 10 foot drop from here. His mom glanced up and then got back to her food. As we're sitting in shocked irritation at the lack of parental responsibility, his mom says to his little sister, "Charlotte, eat." It feels like she punched me.
For the record, the kid was within arms reach of me (about 8 feet away from his mom) and if he had leaned over the railing or looked at all like he would actually go over, I would have both grabbed him, and said something to his mom. Instead I sat in quiet distain for someone who has no idea what is going through my mind.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012