Saturday, October 31, 2015

This time last year.

We are days away from Lydia's first birthday.  Just 6 days away.

Which means, this time last year, my life was intact.

Justin and I took Benjamin the dragon trick-or-treating.  We talked about how Lydie would be with us next year, wondered what she would dress up as.  A neighbor gave me an extra piece of candy "for the baby."

Justin and I spent the weekend playing furniture Tetris, trying to figure out how to fit the glider and the changing table and the crib into such a small room.  We started to hang up the decor, including the "Lydia, you are my sunshine" print.

I continued collecting the perfect blue and green combinations to fill up my baby girl's closet.

We were counting down the days until she joined our family, thinking that these days with only Benjamin were numbered.

Most of all, I remember that I was really happy.

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I keep thinking about this time last year.

I'm trying to remember what it felt like to be that happy.  That innocent.

To not be completely jaded.

To believe that good things happened to good people.

To believe that I had some semblance of control over my life.  Control over my children.  Control over my body.

To believe that stupid platitude that things happen for a reason.

To feel comforted by statistics.

To be able to have normal conversations with old friends.

To be able to really smile for photos, to not feel like such a faker.

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In my hard moments, I can't imagine I'll ever be truly happy again.

I'm in love with my son and my youngest daughter (and my husband, of course).

But there's this longing, this unfulfillment, this emptiness that resides within me.

There's this constant missing.

The tears have been coming so easily recently.




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I noticed the other day that I have wrinkles.

I think the last year has aged me a million years.

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Maybe I shouldn't write in the roughest moments.
Maybe I should wait for the tough times to pass.
Maybe I should wait until I get more sleep, until I feel less anxious.
Maybe I should wait until I am feeling more at peace.

I just can't stop thinking about this time last year.

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How do you celebrate the first birthday when your daughter died before she was born?

Do you decorate a cake?  Do you sing?

Do you look at photographs of her, make the blurry images in your mind sharp once more?

Do you look up at the stars and tell her how much you love her, and beg that she can hear you?

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How do you get through the one-year anniversary of the worst day of your life, the day you found out her heart had stopped beating?

I guess the answer to this question is:
The same way I have somehow gotten through the 360 days since then.

One moment at a time.

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I just really miss my girl.

And I really miss the life I led until November 5, 2014.






3 comments:

  1. Of course you get to write about the rough moments. As much as your joy, they're a testament of your love for Lydie. And your honesty is helping so many of us. Never censor your grief.

    I've got Lydie's day in my diary and will be thinking of you. I can barely remember N's, we were confused really, just sat there wondering if there was something we should be doing, cried and stared into space. Failed to honour her in any way. It's a few short months till her 2 year birthday/anniversary (I still don't really know what to call it) and I hope we can remember her with a little less of the pain and more of the love. The thing is, this shit is raw and I resent so much the feeling I get from others that my grief should be the gentle, dignified kind. Actually it's fucking disgraceful and I'm still livid at the many people who continue, however subtly, to try to push me into that box and tell me how to mourn my daughter.

    TLDR version: keep being honest Heather!

    Love to Ben, Lydie and Bowie x

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  2. I have tears for you and Lydie reading this. Thank you for not censoring your grief. Since last year you have been through something horrific. Anybody who would expect you to be the same is, well, wrong. This week I got asked, at what point are you going to think it will be okay? I am still livid about that. Trying to live one moment at the time with loss is hard enough without invalidating expectations like that. I will be thinking of Lydie on her birthday, and of your whole family.

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  3. i know the first birthday, and often the lead up to it, is especially hard. We had a cake and released balloons and butterflies. We didn't sing, we never have though this year Finn asked if we were going to. But even if you do nothing but hunker down and love on your family, it won't change that Lydie is loved and she will be celebrated always.

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