Mom

My mom is the most amazing person I have ever known, hands down. She’s loving, compassionate, sympathetic, tolerant, patient, sweet, hilarious, sensitive, beautiful, independent and smart. I am in awe of her. She is my rock, my constant, my best friend. We’ve always been very close, telling each other everything, relating to each other’s lives (our husbands are so similar, it’s scary), and sharing in our happy times and our low times.

I’ve always felt like we’re a lot alike and have always understood each other. For once in my life, I wish she couldn’t relate to me and what I’m going through. I hate that she’s experienced this pain, this agony, this emptiness. I hate that someone I love as much as her knows what this feels like. What it feels like to lose a child.

I was only 15 when my brother died. He was just two weeks old and never left the hospital. That was the most horrific time for all of us, for so many reasons. But how could a 15-year-old ever understand that kind of grief? How could anyone, for that matter? You couldn’t, unless it’s happened to you.

And it happened to me, unbelievably. I still don’t believe it. I feel like I’m talking about someone else, living someone else’s life. I know she’s gone and I will never see her beautiful face again, but the enormity of it almost feels temporary. I don’t think that makes sense but sometimes, I find myself saying “This IS forever”. And that sucks. Really, really sucks.

And my mom GETS it. I hate that she does, but I am so grateful at the same time. She knows what it feels like to not want to get out of bed. She knows what it feels like to be so fragile, you don’t want to be touched or looked at. She knows what to say and what not to say. She knows, just by looking at me or hearing my voice, when I need her. She knows that it takes time, lots and lots of time. She knows that I want a baby more than anything to fill these empty arms. She knows that it’s not a replacement, but a chance to love another child. She knows that sometimes I just don’t want to talk, at all. And she knows that quite possibly, the next day I’ll feel like talking about Maggie all day long.

She gets it. And I love her so much for that. She means the world to me and I am so blessed to have her as my mom, my best friend, my constant.

Thank you, Mom, for getting me through the last 3 months. The dark days don’t seem quite as dark when I know you’re there for me.

I love you.

Emptiness

Today has been a bad day. A very, very bad day. Whenever I have days like this, I keep repeating to myself “It won’t hurt like this tomorrow”. Because if it did hurt like this every single day, I would not survive. I know that. Everyone says how strong I am, how inspiring I am, and while I like hearing that, it almost makes me laugh. I go through the motions of my daily routine, and make it through most days fine. But some days, like today, I just can’t keep the thoughts at bay. Maggie’s birthday is in three days, and it makes my heart ache just thinking that we won’t get to celebrate her first birthday with her. Or any of her birthdays, for that matter. It’s not fair and it makes me so angry. I don’t get to see her face when she sees her cake, her candle, her presents. I don’t get to watch as she shoves cake into her beautiful mouth, covering herself in frosting.

Today, for whatever reason, all the “things I won’t get to do with Maggie” are weighing me down. All those little – and not so little – things break my heart over and over again. I crave her. I ache for her. My arms feel so empty and I would give anything just to hold her again. Just one more time. I would give anything to go back to that day and hold her while she slept instead of putting her in her crib. I would give anything to go back to that day and pick her up when I heard her fuss. I finally did go to her, only 40 minutes too late. Oh, my sweet angel, what I wouldn’t do to have that day back. We’d be celebrating your birthday, not letting off balloons at your gravesite.

How is THIS my life? How in the hell did this happen to us? We finally had everything we ever wanted and it was gone in an instant. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy; no one should ever have to bury their child. And I hate that I’m now “that woman” who lost her child. My mom is that woman, as is my grandma. Why our family? I just hope and pray with all my might that my children, and my sister’s children, will never have to endure this kind of agony. I don’t believe in curses, but I pray to God that this “curse” ends with me.

My Girl

I miss her. I miss her scent. I miss her infectious smile. I miss how she'd kick her feet in excitement when I'd get her out of her crib. I miss her beautiful blue eyes. I miss her laugh, especially mixed with her sister's laugh. I miss how complete she made our family feel. I miss seeing the love in her eyes when she would look at her sister, her daddy, me. I miss how happy I was being her mom. I miss wondering what kind of person she would be. I miss envisioning her future. I miss wondering if her hair would really be red and curly like mine. I miss being a family of four. I miss seeing her carseat next to Piper's. I miss hearing her giggle when Piper would play peek-a-boo with her in the car. I miss the quiet time with her right before bed, and first thing in the morning. I miss changing her clothes/bibs 6 times a day because of the incessant drool. I miss how she would grab a hold of my face for kisses.

I just miss her.