It's April again and I have that familiar pain in my heart thinking about my sweet little girl who isn't with us.
I have realized over the years that the massive heartache I felt when we lost her never actually fades with time- you just feel it less often. Because when it does hit me again, it hits hard and deep, and I feel just the same as I did that moment we arrived home from the hospital and I looked back at her empty car seat and the heavy grief overcame me with sobs.
Yes, the pain comes less often, but I can see now why women in their 50s still cry when they talk about the baby they lost so long ago. That heartache is so heavy that I couldn't possibly feel it ALL the time. You feel it all the time that first year after the loss, and slowly it starts slipping away, like my memory of holding her on that only night I had. But when I DO remember her, and I remember all those little details about that night and my excitement for her, I just ache for her again.
My other children don't fill that place where she is missing. She has made a unique hole in my heart, and no one can ever make that go away. I miss her so badly even 5 years later. It still feels so very unfair, even with all the reasons I have to be thankful that she came into my life. Nothing can make up for that loss.
It's so sad that with time I mention her name, but don't really FEEL the memory of her anymore when I say it. It feels so empty to tell people I only have these 2 children. I really hate saying it, and inside I feel a slight prick in my heart, but I've gotten so used to ignoring that sting and living like a "normal" person.
It's been so long since I've written (or thought) about her. And I think this pain is the reason I've avoided it for so long.
I love and miss you, my baby girl. I can't believe you are turning 5 years old on April 27th. The hardest part is that I am possibly the only person in the world who really cares about that date. There is no one else in the world that misses you so badly, and I feel so alone in this grief. It seems impossible that you didn't touch any other life but mine. I am the only person who ever got to know you, got to experience your life inside me. And so I am alone with this ache.
2 comments:
That was a beautiful post!!
I want you to know, Bethany, that I have thought of your little angel every April, and quite often throughout the rest of the year, too. And as I prepare for each of Adam's birthdays, I think of Annie Elizabeth and how she would have just turned the age that Adam is about to turn.
And sometimes I still feel a little strange that mine is alive and healthy and so close in age to my closest cousin's oldest child who isn't there to play with him when our families gather. Sometimes I still feel a little guilty that mine lived.
As long as I live, I will never forget that funeral, and I still think of her every time I sing "Be Still, My Soul" because of how strongly it hit me as I sang it there. I'll never forget the beautiful baby with such full lips and soft hair I saw in that casket. Or that I sobbed so hard I got a bloody nose.
I have also had premonitions that would lose a child, though I don't know which one or when. And each time I think of that, I think of you and your strength and your testimony.
How I wanted to be there for you, yet how inadequate I felt. Clueless about what to say or how to help you through it.
But I do want you to know that you are not alone in mourning Elizabeth. Though I haven't experienced it and can only imagine your pain, I feel for you. I think of you and of her often. April 27th is a day I remember.
I love you, Bethany.
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