I know I haven't been blogging much.
Some days, I think I am done blogging.
I mean how many times can I say...
My sweet baby girl is dead.
I miss her. every. single. minute. of the day.
I can't wait to see her again. :)
I wish things were different.
I still can't believe that this is my story.
Today I needed to write.
Some days, I will get a single Amelia moment stuck in my head. It replays in my mind over and over throughout the day. So often sometimes that I begin to wonder if I am missing something. Is there a lesson I need to be learning from this memory...something I missed the first time? Today that snippet is a single memory from the days before her funeral.
The day I picked up her photos.
I had several printed so that I could create a mini scrap book to display at her service. As I stood and waited, the woman on the other side of the Walgreen's counter, fumbled around looking to make sure my photos were all in order. I remember her asking me if the photos were professional, "oh, yes, they must be, I see your release from the photographer," she continued to ramble, one of the gals and I were looking through them and she thought they couldn't be professional because she didn't think they let photographers in the operating room but I said they were. You gave me such a good idea, I am going to have to tell my husband that we have to remember that when we have a baby. That is so neat."
I recall thinking to myself, Lady, I sincerely hope you never have the need to have a photographer and your pastor at the ready when your deliver your child. I promise it's not neat...
I didn't say anything, just nodded my head as she talked, said thanks, and left with my envelope of pictures.
I remember being part surprised and part pleased, that she had no idea that the "baby photos" she had been thumbing through were in fact pictures of my dying and dead baby - pictures of my anencephalic baby. I wondered if she'd be disappointed months later when she was denied her request to have her photographer in the OR suite as she delivered her child. Maybe I should have explained...
but I didn't want to upset her.
I often find myself self-censoring in order to protect others.
At the time I felt that it was more about self preservation...
Today I find myself wondering if I would be in a different place emotionally had I let myself break down more often.Would I be any better off? Would I be any further along in my healing or grief?
I doubt it.
But still, I wonder.
With every replay, I wonder.
A Different Kind of Before and After
9 hours ago