Sunday, May 16, 2010

1 Week, 1 Day

Dear Stevie,
Today is Sunday, the day of the week that I would make Dad take new belly pictures of me every week and celebrate it being another week closer to August 15th. I should be writing my 27 week update today. Instead I am writing my 1 week, 1 day update. It's been 1 week and 1 day since you were born, since my world came crashing down, since we had to say hello and goodbye all at once. Somehow I'm still here, I "made it" through the first week, but I feel like a completely different person than I was just 1 week, 1 day ago. I feel like an empty shell, like all the hope and joy I had inside of me has been just sucked out. Like my once happy and carefree spirit left when you did. I miss you so much.

I wish I could tell you that I am doing okay, that I felt "at peace" with your passing, like so many of the sympathy cards we've gotten in the mail mention. But the truth is, this is harder than I could have ever imagined. I'm far from "okay." I wish I could say that it's getting easier each day, but it's not. Each day is harder. The world is moving on, and I feel alone in this dark, dark place. Everyone asks what they can do to help, but they can't give me the one thing that can make me feel better: you. I just want my baby girl so bad.

Everything makes me think about you. You're everywhere. My closet full of maternity clothes. The tightly closed door to your half-finished nursery. The deck where we were supposed to spend afternoons together in the sunshine. The sidewalk in front of our house that you were going to cover in chalk. The sink that I was going to wash your bottles in while singing to you, all tucked-in close to me in your sling. The living room floor where you were going to learn how to crawl. The space next to my bed where your co-sleeper was going to be. Your ultrasound pictures that I found yesterday as I was looking through my purse for my keys. This week my mom and the rest of our families have been around to help; all I can think about it how they should be here helping us get adjusted to life with our new baby, not doing dishes and vacuuming the house because I am too heartbroken to do anything but lay on the couch or in my bed.

And maybe the most painful reminder of you of all: my breasts filling with milk that you will never get to drink.

I don't know why I'm writing this. I started this blog so that someday you would be able to read about the earliest part of your life and so that you would know how much we loved you, even before you were born. I know that now you will never read these words, but writing them to you is helpful to me anyway. I hope with all my heart that even though you never got a chance to read this journal, you knew how loved you were. I hope you somehow sensed how much your mommy and daddy treasured you. I hope you know now how badly I miss you and wish you were here.

All my love,



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