Remembering is a lonely road

Charlotte's birthday went as expected.

We went to the cemetery to place the balloons. We bought three foil helium balloons, one with a teddy bear wearing a tiara that said "1st Birthday Princess" and two other little-girl birthday balloons. I looked at my shoes the entire time I was in the store so the salespeople wouldn't comment on them.

We weighed them down at the base of her stone and anchored them so they wouldn't blow away in the wind. It was warm, for a change, so we stayed a few minutes and the reality that I was placing birthday balloons at a cemetery struck me. It was sad, of course.

We got back in the car and drove to the end of the road to turn around, and saw a women walking a small dog come over the hill towards us. Charlotte's grave is right next to the cemetery road, so anyone walking or driving past sees it. The balloons caught her attention. She stopped by Charlotte's grave.

She must have stood there for five full minutes, looking down. I wonder what she was thinking. She probably read the inscription and the dates and then looked at the balloons and made the connection that it was one year today, and how sad that is, there are first birthday balloons on this baby's grave. Sad indeed.

We waited in the car until she walked by. Before we got a chance to get going again a car slowed down by Charlotte's grave. The couple got out, probably to see why in hell there were balloons in the cemetery. They too paused for quite awhile.

I admit that it made me a little happy. I guess in my heart of hearts that's part of the reason I wanted balloons at the cemetery- so people, even though they were strangers- would realize it was my baby girl's birthday and think of her.

When we got home there was a small vase of flowers tucked into our mailbox with a card, from my former minister who was there for Charlotte's birth and baptized her. That was so sweet of her, even though I haven't seen or talked to her in months.

Other than that, no one else in real life remembered. Not my friends, not my mom or dad, not even my sisters.

By the end of the day I was furious- a true distraction from the grief- that I hadn't heard from anyone. I just couldn't believe that people so close to me would neglect to mark the day in some way- no phone calls, emails, nothing. It was eerily quiet.

I said before that I didn't expect anyone to remember. I don't know why it made me so angry.

I think, after you've walked the dead baby grief path for awhile, that all you end up wanting is your baby to be remembered. It's so easy for everyone to be taken up in their own lives and forget. I've accepted that Charlotte is not here and never will be here. We're hoping for the best for this current pregnancy. All I want for Charlotte now is for her to be remembered, for her to count.

It's so exhausting to have to do all the remembering by yourself.