Missing my Paizley Ann

I lost my little girl in August. It was the toughest thing I had ever gone through. To be honest, reading an old friends posts about losing her baby helped me so much to understand the pain I was feeling. In the begining, I thought I would be okay because I lost my baby at 22 weeks. I didn't give birth to her, I didn't see her. I was going to be fine, right? Well, it's been several months now and I am missing her more and more every day. I am a wreck. So, today after writing a bit, I decided that maybe blogging would help. I want an outlet to show how much I loved my little girl... even if I never met her.

So here is a little ditty I wrote today...

           My mind wanders to thoughts of you every single day. My eyes well up, I get that lump in my throat where it’s hard to swallow and I feel like I suddenly caught the flu. Sometimes my eyes get so glassy that I can’t see through it. Such is a metaphor for my life without you.

            I know you are in a better place though. A place where the sun shines everyday and you can feel the warmth on your skin. A place where the grass is always green on both sides and the butterflies don’t fly away after they land on you. The music is always cheerful and the people greet you in the street like friends. I think maybe you’re a ballerina, with your legs long and lean… just like your momma. You have more rhythm than your mom; she could never really dance.

            I sometimes wonder if you miss me too. Do you remember my voice? Do you long to hear my heart beat against yours? Do you sometimes get scared out in the wide-open air without the comfort of home? You would have to know I loved you. I told you so often; I may have rendered it meaningless. It means so much to me that I loved you. It means so much that I enjoyed every day with you; that you were gentle on me. You grooved with my being like rain drops falling into the ocean, like you were all mine. You were.

            I anger myself with how meaningless life seems without you. The weeks slip by me and I can’t help but countdown the days until you would be in my arms. Would be. And I size you up, “Today, she would be a cantaloupe,” though I dare not speak it aloud. But my belly is still flat and my feet haven’t swelled and your clothes are all packed and my wedding ring barely fits. I was waiting for you to bring it all to size. I couldn’t have been more excited if someone handed me a million dollars. You were my joy. I changed my life for you. And it was taken all away in a moment, just one moment in time.

I felt so connected to you that I knew; I knew there would be ribbons and bows instead of trucks and dirt clods. Buying pink was never a gamble. I knew who you were, but I will never get a chance to know you. You slipped through me like an elephant through a pinhole. It was never easy. It was never painless.

I sat on the edge of the lake that last weekend looking out into the mirrored reflections of what could be, knowing what your future held. I captured those final moments with you, holding onto my belly as if to hold onto your soul. I took pictures, picturing myself in another place and time, one where you would really be mine. And I drove back to reality with tears in my eyes, damning the forces that brought our part.

I now pray to you like you are my God, my universe, and my soul. Sometimes I think you are the only one who understands me, the only thing that would complete me. You listen without judgment. You love without haste. You remind me what it is to truly love. And for that, I will never forget you. I will always remember the day I found out I was going to be someone’s mommy. I will forever cherish the time you graced my life with your presence. And I will forever despise they day you left my heart empty.