A birthday, a year

My darling Charlotte,
   Another year come and gone.  Hundreds more days without you. 365 sunrises. Millions of heartbeats missed. I have missed your joy.  Your laughter and your tears.  I have missed watching you learn and grow and become a child from the baby I knew. 
   I write this letter to you every day.  You are in my mind every second,  your name stays on my lips with every breath.  Your birthday letters that you will never read,  like my prayers and my wishes,  scattered in the wind.
   Another year we have spent watching our family thrive and grow.  Your sister is becoming a young lady. She is so smart and curious.  I am amazed every day at the way she sees the world.  She is so bright,  despite my darkness.  Your brother is a handful.  He is my wild child, always running and climbing and yelling.  I talked to him about you and he looked surprised.  Do I not bring you into our home enough?  Or was he amused because he knows you?  Do you visit them in their dreams? 
   I wish I could hold your hand one more time.  Kiss your cheeks,  feel your breath on my face.  What I would give to see your eyes looking into mine,  your voice calling my name.  I love you, my sweet baby girl.  I love you wherever you are.  I miss you every day.  I miss you with us.  We are not complete. You are missing from us.  I love you.
  

But then she wasn't

8 years ago tonight, I went to bed carrying a healthy baby girl.  A strong daughter.  When I woke up on the morning of February 25th,  our world was forever changed.  Hopes shattered. A heartbeat stilled.  We will never know what happened in the night on February 24, 2007. We will never know why she didn't wake with me.  Tonight I go to bed with a heavy heart.  My senses are dulled and my heart is bruised.  Maybe someday I will dream of her.  Tonight I cannot imagine getting any rest at all.

Worry Stone

Saturday in the mail I received a gift.  Maybe I should start at the beginning.

When Miles was a newborn,  I started keeping up with the community on Baby Center.  The birth board I chose to join was a pretty terrible place. People bickering and being flat out rude for the sake of entertainment. It had very little to do with babies and very much to do with rotten attitudes.  Sometime in April or May,  someone mentioned drama on one of the other boards.  In the ensuing discussions,  someone brought up that this other board had a thread all about nail polish.  I was intrigued,  and even more so when people began to make fun of the very idea.  I've always had a love affair with nail polish. I thought it was just a girl thing.  So of course I decided to check out the nail polish thread and see what it was really about. It turned out to be about nail polish. No drama,  no bickering,  just shared joy over a cosmetic item.  Simple.  Straightforward.  I joined the women talking about their nails and just kind of stood in the background,  lurking for the most part.   In August or September, a new person began posting on the thread.  She introduced herself,  and told her story.
She had lost her first child in June.  Full term,  unexplained stillbirth.  I reached out to her,  She reached back.  We became friends.  We talk occasionally.  We text constantly.  She gives me strength.  I give her as much support as I can. 

In the mail,  I received a small fairy encased in a enamel star.  I put in it my pocket and rub my fingers across it throughout the day.  Sunday,  on my way to work I was thinking about how much I dislike the month of February.  Then a thought occurred to me.  Charlotte lived through most of the month.  I thought at that time,  8 years ago today,  she was alive.
Because,  I think,  of this worry stone,  Maybe I can begin to worry less about the month of suck. Maybe I can choose instead to remember how alive she was for the majority of it. 

February

As silly as it seems,  February sneaks up on me.  I can feel it coming,  often as soon as October.  But the holidays speed the world up,  things turn so quickly that I blink,  and it's February.  This heavy weight on my chest.  The insomnia.  Waking up in the middle of the night and looking around for someone who isn't there.  I touch my children's faces while they sleep.  I count their breaths.  There is always someone missing. A heartbeat that thunders,  but only I can hear it. 

She would have been 8 this month. She would be halfway through second grade. She would have giggling friends,  favorite clothes and movies.  Her sister and brother would drive her crazy.  She would roll her eyes at me like Sophia does.  She would be her daddy's girl,  like Sophia is.  So many things that she should be. 

So many times,  I've looked at Miles when he's asleep,  and have seen Charlotte's face.  I always thought she'd have looked like me and Sophia,  but I'm starting to realize that she was a mini Mike like Miles is.  The cheeks and the lips and the nose,  this is what she would have looked like if she had lived.  If she had had the chance to be 14 months old.  If she had had the chance to live. 

Walk To Remember

I'm here again.  Alone this time.  I thought I'd just show up and grab my shirts and then leave again. But on the way here I thought,  why?  Mike and the kids are having fun at gramma' s. I have nothing to get to.  I have nowhere to be.  So I'm sitting in the grass waiting for the program to begin. Waiting to hear my daughter's name called.  Waiting to release a balloon to her in heaven.  There are way too many people here. Way too many babies lost forever. October is Pregnancy And Infant Loss Awareness month.  How many people even know that?  Beyond the 500 or so people here.  And the people at the walks in cities around America this month.  How many people have any idea?  You can't blink without seeing pink effing ribbons.  Pink merchandise as far as the eye can see.  It's almost a holiday,  for those companies that make money hand over fist for "breast cancer research".  Everyone knows that October is pink.  But in my world,  October is pink and blue.  October is lighting candles and releasing balloons and every day,  trying to remind the world about my baby.  About all of the babies.  I won't do a breast cancer awareness manicure this month.  I won't post a breast cancer gif on my social media.  Everyone knows about that.  I want people to know about our babies. I want them to remember that October is for Charlotte.  Cory. Kate. Samuel and Ezekiel.  Melissa. Brayden. Christian.  Madeline. Rowan. All of the babies that didn't come home.  The babies that were carried.  Loved.  Lost. 

Today I am at the Share Parents of Utah Walk of Remembrance and Hope.  Today I am spending time with my daughter's memory. In my daughter's memory.  Her name was Charlotte and she was perfect.

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PCMC

So much has been going on lately. Not all of it good. Both of our cars broke down, one of them twice. As in, lots (and lots) of money. They're both running again, thanks to our great family and friends who stepped in to help us out.
 Miles had his follow up ultrasound to check his kidney. It came back a week later and the news was not good. His hydronephrosis has gotten worse, his right kidney is now a stage 3. We are going to PCMC tomorrow to see a pediatric urologist to see what the next step is. From what I've read on Dr. Google, it's probably going to mean surgery. He's only 8 1/2 months old. I can't even fathom having to check him into the hospital for a surgery. We'll see what happens tomorrow.
Sophia started first grade. The first week, I was a mess. I watched the clock for 7 hours, waiting to pick her up. I can't believe that my little baby girl is in full time school. For the next 12 years. It makes me want to cry. She likes it okay. She has a lot of friends in her class, and I think her teacher is going to be great for her.
I need to start updating this blog more often. I think about it every day, but always seem to freeze up when it comes to opening it. Too much going on in my head and I feel like if I open it up, there will be trouble.