My Charlotte,

For four years now, I have been writing you letters on your birthday. I have been trudging through the week of your birth, and trudging through the snow to your headstone. For four years, I have been listening for your voice, and I have been looking for you in every single dream I have.

I have known since the beginning (which was also the end) that this year would be the hardest. Even before you were born, I pictured you as my four year old daughter. With curly brown pigtails, with big blue eyes. I pictured you in denim overalls and a sneaky smile. I know you would have been mischievous and sweet. I know you would have been my best friend. What makes this even harder is that your sister is all of those things. She is more than I could have asked for, and I wonder why I am so lucky to have her. But then I think, I could have used more luck. I could have used a little more help in that department.

I have spent the last 4 years going over every single detail of my time with you. When I slipped on the ice at work, and the ultrasound said you were just fine. The classes your daddy and I took to get ready for you to come. The day we knew you weren't coming home. I have spent the last 4 years being ashamed at how I handled your birth. How stoic I was, and how cold I must have seemed. I wish I could go back to that day and I would let your grandparents hold you, I would have shared you. But I was so selfish and afraid.

Every year that goes by, you seem to get further away. We are traveling in different directions, and my biggest fear is that when I reach my destination, you wont be where I am. It will be my punishment for not knowing you were in trouble. For not saving you when I had the chance. I fear that I will spend forever tumbling around without you. But the last four years seem like close to forever. How many more years will I have before I forget the way you smelled, and how soft your skin was? How many more times will I be able to remember the way you kicked and danced in my belly, before that is taken from me as well?

On your fourth birthday, I cannot find the words for how much I miss you. For how much I need to see your face and hear your voice. I wish you were here so I could kiss you goodnight and whisper my prayers in your ear. I wish that I could have just five minutes with you, to hold your hand and listen to you say my name. Happy Birthday, my love. Never forget that mommy and daddy love you. Never stop looking down on your family, because we will never stop looking up for you.

Is it the medicine I took for my pulled muscle? Or is it the knowledge that tomorrow is the 4 year anniversary of the day my daughter died? I feel numb. I feel hollow and weak. I cannot concentrate on anything.

Four years ago today I was completely clueless. I didn't know that babies could die before they even had a chance to take a breath. That my body was not a safe place for my daughter. That by the next day, I would be in the hospital, numb with shock. Being pumped full of drugs that would help me to deliver my baby, whose eyes I would never see, whose cry I would never hear. Four years ago today, I had a vision of my future that will never come true. Of children running around outside. My children, happy and unaware of loss. I have no doubt that I will see my Sophia running and happy for many years. But someday she will learn that she has a sister. That what mommy has told her is true. How is that fair? How will we explain to her that her big sister isn't here to play with her, to protect her.

Four years ago today my world still made sense. Since then, not much does.

I am a stay at home mom. That's what I do. When people ask what I do, I say I'm a mom. It's my job. I also go to a craft store a few days a week and make a little bit of money, but it's just what I do to make money- it's not "what I do."

I don't know why that explanation is insulting for people. It has nothing to do with them. I waited my entire life to stay home with my kids. So why is it so hard for people to understand that that is what I want to continue to do?

I was offered a promotion at work. It is going to allow me to make a (very) little more money every month, but it is also going to take me away from my family more. I am thankful for the opportunity, and I am thankful to have a secure job that will give us a little bit of peace of mind with Mike's layoff coming up. But I am also a little sad about it. I know that I will get used to the change, and even enjoy it when our savings (that we don't have any of at this point) allows us to go see the ocean this summer (which is the plan, but not set in stone because we have tend to have bad luck with plans.)

This month has not been as awful as February usually is, but going into this next week, with Laura's birthday, and Charlotte's birthday.. I'm feeling the weight of it all. I can only hope it passes without incident and March brings an easy and early spring.

I'm drinking wine and writing poetry for the first time in years. Maybe I can compile it, finally. Maybe I will write my book.

I hate that the infinite sadness starts in January. When I should be happily planning Sophia's party (she wants a pink party and she is getting a pink party. I cannot believe she is going to be 3. She is picking out her own parties and decorations and telling me what she wants at her party. She is singing Happy Birthday to herself while pounding the keys of her piano. I am so blessed.) I guess this is the new normal. Like "they" said 4 years ago. A new normal.

My husband doesn't have cancer anymore.

That's the official word from his oncologist. We went to the hospital today and they removed his portacath. Other than check ups, he's done.

I think I'm still stunned by the news. I really expected bad news. The doctor had to tell us 3 or 4 times before we believed him.

I feel like I should have more to say, but it's just not coming tonight. It's been a long day (at the hospital) and some snarky bitches have undone my good mood. Maybe because I'm tired. Maybe because now that Mike's clear I'm an easy target again. Either way, I have been reduced to exhausted tears and worry. I know that part of my mood has to do with my amazing friend being in the hospital because of the nasty flu. I want nothing more right now than to fly to Philadelphia and keep her company. I guess I feel like running away.

I feel like shit today. I want to run away.

Here we go again.

I wonder whose idea it was to tell the world that a new year meant we got to start fresh? It's just a date on a calender.

But maybe I'm feeling extra bitter right now because we're waiting on the results from Mike's CT. Waiting to see if he still has cancer.

Mike and I discussed babies last week. Because yes, people ask me all the time if we're going to have more. When we're going to try. Blah blah blah. Add to that the fact that some people close to us are having more, and are doing it now.. Well, the pressure's on.

So I told Mike that it makes me angry that no one else has to stop and think about their decision. No one else has to wonder if their child's father will be around in 5 years so watch their kids start school. No one else wonders if their baby will even survive to see their birth day. And I know these things make me sound selfish and whiney, and no, I do not wish these things on anyone, ever. But it's not okay that no one seems to understand where we are coming from. It makes me even more lonely. And unsure. And yes, angry.