Living with the loss of stillbirth and learning to live in the sunshine of our new normal.

Sunday, February 26, 2017


My darling girl,

   Nothing makes sense to me right now. Where are you?
I just walked through snow, eight inches deep. I went to your headstone and I cleared the snow off. My feet are wet, my knees where I knelt in the snow, but I don't feel it. I closed my eyes and I asked you to let me know you're here, but you never do. Nothing makes sense to me right now. There are so many things I don't understand, and so many things that I feel like I need answers to. Maybe I don't deserve answers, is that it? Maybe I am unfit to know the things I thought I used to know. I feel like I want something to believe in, but I don't know what that is. I used to believe in everything, and now? Now I'm not sure. About anything. What is it about a decade, 10 years, that makes this feel so important? Just more years of you not being here with your family. Baby I'm not trying hard enough everyday, and that's why your birthday feels so big. I don't know what to do, I don't know what to say, this is a journey that I never thought I would be on. And I know that no one thinks that they will never take this journey. I know that people think this can't happen to them. But it does. And 10 years later I still don't know why. We have had so many happy things happen to our family, and so many terrible things. We're just like the rest of the world. Except we're not. Maybe we are thicker skinned, maybe we are tougher because we needed to be tougher. But that's not fair, we won't ever get our happy ending, because we lost you. All of the happy things that happen in our lifetime, not a single one will make up for the loss of you.
It's your birthday,  but I can't celebrate.  I can barely drag myself up the hill today.  I miss you,  I miss you. I'll always miss you.

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