I was doing well today. Actually, the day was average. I’m fine with average. Boring can be really good. Then tonight came, and I miss my daughter. I’ve been having horrible dreams about the day I walked in and found my sister’s body. That sight still bothers me tremendously sometimes. In the dreams, though, my baby is lying on my sister’s chest, and they are both covered in blood, both dead. I guess it only makes sense– the child I raised lying dead with the child I never got the chance to see alive. There’s just too much pain in my mind right now, and I feel like I’m being devoured. Some days it’s like the pain becomes me and I no longer exist outside of it. Tonight is one of those nights.
There have been so many I’ve lost, and there’s all the years of SRA. However, I’d go through every second of it again if it meant having my daughter alive. I wouldn’t even need a second’s thought. This pain is all-consuming. I feel it physically. Even as I type, my breath is hard to find. The worst part is I know this pain will be part of me forever. There’s something about your child’s death that shakes you to the very core. I don’t understand it, nor do I really want to. There is no making sense of my baby’s death. I’m just trying to make some sense of life. It seems futile, though, when babies die to assume that their parents can live, truly live, without them.
I’d give anything to have her back. It’s a feeling of panic, like I’m not truly sure I *can* stand this pain for the rest of my life. Even on the best days, my daughter is the first and last of my thoughts. It just hurts more than I can say, and I know there’s no way to fix it. My child cannot live, no matter how much I’d give to have her, and I’m not sure how to cope with that. It’s a loss like no other, even with all of the losses I’ve faced before. She was my precious child, and I ache for wanting to hold her. I hope she can see or hear me somehow, and I hope she knows how I love her with every cell in my body.
When I think of her at night, sometimes I sing a lullaby in my mind and hope that she is listening. Mothers are supposed to be able to hold their children, though, and their children are supposed to get a chance to live out their lives. In place of where my baby’s pictures should be, there’s a little ceramic urn with an engraving of an angel holding a baby in her wings. I’m not a Christian, and I have no idea what, if anything, happens after this. I do know that I want my baby cared for, safe, and loved. What gets me through these long nights is meditation. I think of her and send out my love in light and energy, hoping that my love reaches her. I’m not ready yet to say goodbye.