Exactly three months, exactly 13 weeks, since Charlotte's birth, death. Since she was.
It was a beautiful day here today. We don't get many of those on this island, so the city was buzzing today with life and smiles, music pumping from cars and kids riding bikes in the middle of our street.
They were all out today.
Little perfect families, moms and dads with baby or two, looking so happy as they navigated strollers and baby backpacks, dodging sprinklers up and down the street. The wind carried the giggles and cries of the babies to our yard, and I tried to ignore it. Of course I couldn't; I did the opposite in fact. I listened intently.
I wonder what she would sound like if she was here. I wonder how her little cry would be. M heard little whimpers from her when I was still in surgery; by the time I spent time with her those obvious signs of life were nonexistent. I never saw her move. I never saw her struggle to breathe or gasp a cry. When I had her, she was warm, and her heart was still beating. I remember feeling her cool in the hours I held her after she died. I remember the nurse warning us when she brought her in the next morning, She's a bit cold now.
Oh I miss her so. What I wouldn't give to hold her again when she was warm.
I still haven't had any contact with our new-baby-friends. This morning I sent an email, basically saying congratulations and sorry for not visiting. I explained why- I'm just not ready yet. Not at all. I haven't received a response yet, but I'm not sure I even want one. I don't want to open up a conversation about how wonderful it is to have a new baby home, how sweet and precious she is, how full their life is now. I can't do it.
I've been great at distracting myself lately. M and I are heading to San Francisco the beginning of August- he has a conference at Berkeley and I'm tagging along. I can't wait to get away. It's a long, long flight from here but I don't care. Now that I know about this blood-clotting thing I'll make sure I have an aisle seat and do lots of laps around the plane. The change of scenery will do us both good. Plus, people with newborns don't jetset across the continent at whim. One small victory for my new life.
Earlier today I viewed a cousin's pictures on Facebook (I must stop going there, it never turns out well), and there were pictures of a distant cousin's little girl, about 2 years old. The little one looked so much like me I gasped. I instantly broke down. I've never met this little girl, but maybe Charlotte would have looked like that in a couple of years. Maybe she would have looked like me. We'll never know.
Tomorrow is supposed to be another beautiful day. I'm going to visit my baby girl and bring her a basket of pink flowers we've had growing for her. I wish I wish I wish.
1 comment:
Three months is hard. It's hard when that due date goes past, and there is no baby in your arms. We hold out hope, that somehow, somewhere, something will come and make this right.
And there is nothing that can. like you said in your last post, there is no good reason for a baby to die, and perhaps everything does happen for a reason, but that doesn't mean that we will ever comprehend it.
If you had to ask me why Gabriel died, I would tell you it is because we live in a fallen world. We live in a world where horrible, awful, gut wrenching things happen. And that, you are right, is not a good enough reason.
thanks for your comment. I appreciated it.
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