Beginning

This is how it begins.  I say I'm fine,  I feel fine,  I'm impressed with how well I'm feeling.  And then the heart palpitations begin. The choking feeling and the tears threatening to flood.  It's so strange, it's like a light switch, but it has a mind of its own. Is it because it's my cousin's birthday?  He's 10 days older than Charlotte.  Is it because in 10 days it will have been 10 years?  How have I lived an entire decade without my daughter?

Balance

I'm not a religious person.  I haven't ever been, really, even though I was raised in a family that went to church most weeks. I went to church events,  though reluctantly. I am close to people who have chosen to stay in the church, and I don't disagree with their decision to do so.  But I left,  and I walked away feeling fine with my decision. I used to think I was a spiritual person, but over the last few years I've lost even that.  But here's a secret,  I still pray.  Every night,  I say the words in my head,  more often than not, the same words I always say, with some variation here and there, depending on the day. I still pray, but I'm not sure why.  I don't know if i believe anymore,  in anything. I'm not sure if I'm praying because it's habit,  or hope. I feel like I beg and I beg,  and I just feel nothing. Since Dawn and Wyatt died,  especially, it's hard for me to pray. Not because losing them made me lose faith,  because I honestly don't know if I had faith before that. Losing both of them so close together,  not being able to properly grieve for either of them,  I feel stuck. I stopped praying for them,  obviously, and of course kept praying for our families.  But even that has stopped.  Maybe I feel like it wasn't being heard,  maybe I felt like it wasn't enough, I don't know.  I wish I knew where to go, what to do, to find the kind of faith other people have.  Not knowing is the absolute hardest thing about losing people.  Will I see them again?  If not, what's the fucking point?

We lost Charlotte before we even had her.  I spent 9 months as her mom,  getting to know as much of her as I ever would. But then in an instant, she was gone. Forever?  It terrifies me to think that I will never have another chance to hold her,  to see her face. To not know is sickening. I used to believe that I would see her in heaven,  but now?  Now I'm stumbling, I've lost my balance, and it feels like it's so much easier to just fall.

February

I've decided to take February one day at a time this year. Instead of lumping the month together in one large angry ball of grief, one day at a time.

That being said,  I can already feel the weight. Ten years of mourning my daughter,  ten years of milestones missed. I can feel everything I've spent the last ten years not doing,  and it's a heavy weight.  I can't describe the way it woke with me this morning,  the unwillingness to face the day. I did not want to admit myself that it was the Februaries that caught me off guard, that the reason I felt "off" was just the stupid month. I should be stronger than that by now,  I should be able to work around the schedule my heart has been keeping for the past decade. But I am not,  I cannot. I will admit that I did push through,  I woke myself up and shook it off as much as I could,  and for any given day in February,  it was a victory. Still,  here I lay in bed,  tormenting myself with the realizations that it will not end. Time does not heal wounds, it stretches them, they come out misshapen and raw in places that were not raw before.  I think I do a pretty consistent job of living my normal life with my only half normal heart,  but February keeps coming back. I can't wonder what tomorrow will bring, because I let go of those anxieties to keep myself sane. I will face the next 25 days with as much strength an dignity as I can muster (on any given day.) That's all I can do,  hope for the best, as the world crumbles around us.  Keep the stresses out,  and hold the stresses in.

I bought a black dress

A week ago, we broke Sophia's heart. It was the hardest thing we've ever done to her. We had to sit her down and tell her that her Gramma is dying. She's not just sick. She's not going to get better. We had to tell her that Gramma is going to die. It could be next week, it could be a few months. Her heart shattered. We told her that it's okay to be sad, and to be angry. But it's also okay to be happy and laugh and still feel normal. She's a strong girl, and I know that she's going to be okay. But the world will never be the same for her again.

1000 Oceans

The waves are coming.  When I close my eyes I feel like I'm in the middle of the ocean,  in a rowboat.  I'm holding on to the sides but the boat is shrinking and soon it will be just me,  in the middle of the waves. 

Rainbow Baby

   8 years ago today, we checked into the hospital. We were there for an amniocentisis, a test I never thought I'd want. We were there to check the lung function of our second daughter, we were there to see if it was safe to meet her. I packed my bags that day, not before, not ahead of time like I had with Charlotte. My only birth plan was to get her out safely. My doctor came in and explained things to us again, set up the ultrasound. Pulled out the needle. It didn't hurt nearly like I thought it would. We watched our little baby on the screen, moving around, saying hello.The doctor left to go to a Jazz game, told us he'd call when the results came in. Said we could go either way- if her lungs were mature (i'd had steroid shots) we would induce in the morning. If they were not, we could decide what to do. I knew, I wanted her out of my body. My dangerous body, that had not kept her sister safe. The next day I would be 36 weeks pregnant.
   Mike and I watched that stupid Jazz game, against the Spurs, whom I hated and hate even more now. We watched it, we waited. We answered texts and calls from anxious family and friends. We got the news late, but it was good- her lungs were fine and she would be born on the 29th.
   I think we got some sleep. The nurse came in with the cervical softening crap. Family arrived in the morning. The induction started. It went smoother than with Charlotte, we could hear her strong heartbeat, we had something to look forward to. The contractions weren't threatening to rupture my uterus, the epidural wasn't dripping down my gown. I felt her moving, I felt her kicking and rolling. I called the nurse, and she checked me because I could feel so much. The nurse gave us some bad news: the baby had turned breech sometime during the labor process. My water had alread been broken, and I wouldn't have risked trying to turn her anway. So we booked the OR, and I had my first ever surgery. After much nausea, panic attacks, terror, relief, pain, extra bleeding, passing out, etc, the surgery was over. Sophia was safe, crying, alive. Mike went to the nursery with her. I kept bleeding. After many extra stitches and worry, I was fine as well. I had to wait over an hour to hold my baby, because her blood sugar was wonky, and I had so many drugs in my system that I could barely stay awake.
   I think I lost my point somewhere. I can't express properly the fear, anxiety, and joy. My baby girl brought me back to life. She saved me. Every day, she makes the world a better place. She is an amazing big sister, and little sister. She is smart, and funny, and beautiful. She is wise and kind. Tomorrow she will be 8 years old. 8 years of making the world a better place, of bringing sunshine and rainbows and unicorns into our lives. I cannot celebrate her enough. Happy birthday, Sophia. We love you.

How

I should be asleep.  I'm in bed and my eyes have been closed and I was halfway there.  But I've gotten myself worked up with worry.  Talking myself down from an actual panic attack, but I should have made the doctor give me some xanax or rescue meds today.  I knew this was on the horizon.
It's been brewing for weeks, this unease in my mind.  It's just the time of year, it's just the weather, it's Paris, it's San Bernardino, it's the upswing of traffic at airport #2. It's the shorter days and the long cold nights, the ice on the roads and the constant drip that just freezes to drip again. It's my closest friends living miles away and my inability to fix the woes of those I love.  It's this damn headache that only subsides for an hour or two and then comes roaring back to blind me. The worry over bills to come and home repairs we just can't seem to get around to.  The loss of my daughter, my sister, friends, family. It's this time of year, but I need to go to sleep.  I should have asked for xanax.