Kelly Clarkson Sober (video)

I heard this song 3 months after we lost her. I had just found out we were going to have Sophia. I knew it would either save me or kill me. "Been a long road since those hands I left my tears in. But I know it's never really over."

March 22, 2007 was the third day of Spring. It was my due date with Charlotte. It was the night I instead went to dinner with my friends, the first time other than the funeral (and the casket-purchasing trip) that I had gone out of the house.

Tonight I turned on my iPod so I could use it while I walked on the treadmill. I decided to revisit my old playlists (I don't use my iPod much anymore.) Of course I decided I had to listen to some of Charlotte's songs. Her playlist is called "My Little Star". These are her songs.

1. Charlotte Sometimes- The Cure 2. Thinking about You- Norah Jones 3. Somewhere Over The Rainbow- Isreal Kamakawiwo'ole 4. 1,000 Oceans- Tori Amos 5. Love You Lately- Daniel Powter 6. Hear You Me- Jimmy Eat World 7. Starlight- Muse 8. Hello, I Love You- The Doors 9. Slipped Away- Avril Lavigne 10. Sober- Kelly Clarkson 11. I Don't Wanna Talk About It- Indigo Girls 12. I Grieve- Pete Gabriel 13. Overkill- Colin Hay (acoustic version) 14. God Only Knows- The Beach Boys 15. One Sweet Day- Mariah Carey+ Boyz II Men 17. Fireflies- Faith Hill 18. Better Together- Jack Johnson 19. Sexyback- Justin Timberlake 20. Brown Eyed Girl-Van Morrison 21. The Prayer- Josh Groban and Charlotte Church 22. Playboy Mommy- Tori Amos 23. Maps- The Yeah Yeah Yeahs 24. Far Away- Nickelback 25. Who You'd Be Today- Kenny Chesney 26. Angel Mine- Cowboy Junkies 27. Adia- Sarah McLachlan 28. Move Along- The All-American Rejects 29. For Good (from Wicked)

Obviously, there are a couple of strange choices. But they all have a story, or an obvious meaning. I don't know if I've ever told anyone the story behind Starlight. You'd think it's clear, but there is a story. I just don't want to talk about it tonight. One of the darker days of After. And one of the few I remember clearly.

Today I noticed a purple crocus in my front yard. I don't know how long it's been there. I don't remember it being there last year. It's droopy and sad because it snowed again last night. But it's there.

For her last two birthdays, I have rebounded quickly from the tower of anguish that the memory of losing Charlotte brought. This year it's lingering. Very sneakily, it attacks me when I don't expect it. A song, a street name, the picture of a little girl on one of Sophia's books. For the first time, an old episode of Sex And The City made me cringe whenever "Charlotte's" name was said. I feel as though I am stuck in a hole. It's not deep, but it's dark and filled with anger. I climb out but keep tripping into it again.

I will admit that I have spent a lot of this year being very angry. And I know that some of the reason behind it is that I am not taking my anxiety pills, but the rest of it is that I am just letting myself be angry. The unfortunate thing is that I have no idea why I am so angry. It seems to be centered at the wind. I don't know where it came from or where it's going next.

Today I was thinking about the nurses that helped us with Charlotte. I have their names written down somewhere, and sometimes I think about sending a letter to them. They were amazing. The one I thought of today lived close to us. She tried to describe where she lived (it was about 4 blocks away but that's all I remember). She was trying to make small talk and if I remember right, I did a pretty good job of responding. I don't know what brought her to mind, but I wonder if she went home that night and held her children extra close. Sometimes I wonder about the delivery nurse, who cried when Charlotte was delivered. She bathed her for us, and she wept for our daughter. I remember wondering if she would get in trouble for that, if her bosses would think it was "unprofessional", but it was the most human thing in the world, and I was so thankful that she showed us how she felt.

I'm glad that Spring is soon. Daylight Savings has me feeling a little bit lighter. The sunshine helps, but it's not enough. I have to keep looking for something to help me feel more sane.

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.