Again

It's february again. I hate this month.

Sophia asked me yesterday who her favorite kid in our house was. Usually an easy question. But she threw in, "me, or Charlotte?" I said, Charlotte isn't here, sweetie. She insisted. Persisted. I told her I loved them both, she got huffy and kept saying, "me or Charlotte?" I gave up and went mute. I know that she has no idea how those types of conversations hurt us. I know that its not fair to ignore it. I know that she's just being a kid. I don't know how to handle it. You'd think that after 6 years, I would know what to say.

Last night, it finally happened. I had a dream about Charlotte. It's the second dream I've had about her since she died. This one was sad like the first, but it was also amazing.
I walked into a funeral home and some of our friends were standing outside of a glass room. I don't know who these people were. There were four of them, and I remember knowing that they weren't close friends, but they were there for us- doing something great for us. It's like they were standing guard. When we got there, they seemed relieved, because they could go. I was okay with that. I walked right by them without speaking. They asked if we needed anything to eat, and I said, "no, thank you." and walked into the glass room. There were stands with flowers, a plush carpet. The room was only about 12'x12' There were 3 babies in the room, waiting for their families to come and see them. Charlotte was near the back, on the left. She was lying on the floor, with her head towards the center of the room and her feet towards the wall. I thought, "they couldn't even put her in something- a bed?" The other babies were in bassinets (or possibly caskets? I didn't pay that much attention because I was flying to my baby's side.) I knelt down beside her. I knew she was dead, but she was also alive. Her eyes opened and she looked at me. I don't what know I said to her. I know I babbled a little. "It's me. It's mommy. Shhh, I'm here." She looked at me and she knew me.

And I woke up. I woke up and I sat up in bed and I smiled, because I got to see my baby. I got to touch her and speak to her. I tried to stay awake so I could revel in the fact that I had seen her. Then it occurred to me that if I fell back asleep, maybe I would go back to the dream. I didn't, but it's enough. Those few seconds, seeing her eyes, knowing she knew who I was. Two dreams in 6 years- that's all I have of my daughter, but I feel so blessed to have that.

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.

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.

Day 28- Memory

I have been working on the Carly Marie Project Heal Capture Your Grief photo project. Slowly. It went through October but I haven't finished it. I have all of my pictures, but I haven't gotten them all up yet on FB. This is the hardest one for me. The memory. The Memory.

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.

Gasping For Air

There are days that I really do feel like I will drown. After almost 6 years, that hasn't gone away. The times when the loss of our daughter is so real that time stands still.
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?

Walk

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.