I can't do it anymore. I can't be that strong person who is trusting that God is good and focusing on heaven. Last week, I was that person. I was able to focus on that and dream about our future, overlooking the present pain. Today, the present pain is all consuming. I am drowning in my grief. I can't take it anymore. This is too much for any person to handle. I can't wrap my head around it, can't understand the why. WHY?? I want to scream that at the top of my lungs, but it won't help. Nothing will. I feel so empty. And I hate Christmas, HATE Christmas. I don't feel merry. I don't feel thankful. I don't feel blessed. And I'm tired of hearing about the people who are. I am crumbling as my heart continues to shatter. And instead of it getting better, when the grief hits it is so much worse. My baby girl is gone. Gone forever. I will not get to raise her, or see her as a baby, or see her have babies. I am missing so much. And I just want her back. I would do anything to have her back.
My birthday next week is just another painful reminder. I should have celebrated with a child several birthdays ago. But God had different plans for me, and I came to terms with that. But this was the year. This was the year I was going to celebrate my last birthday before I became a mom. Before I started getting a collection of homemade cards and cheap gifts with handprints on them that I absolutely loved. And now it is another year gone by with me being barren. Empty. Broken. I hate my birthday. It was not supposed to be like this, it's not.
I don't get to grieve the way I could at the beginning. I can't just take a moment for myself to be sad during the day. I can't randomly tear up with patients while treating them. I can't break down and sob at lunch. Because Reagan has been forgotten. Not by us, as both Andrew and I agreed things are only getting harder. But by everyone else. No one asks about her anymore. No one wants to hear about her little face or our time together. I don't want to be distracted. I don't want you to tell me that it is going to be okay. Because it will never be okay, never again. And maybe I can punch the next person who tells me that the reason it is okay is because I still have more time, I can always have another one. Like that is somehow going to replace my daughter? If anyone said that of the families who lost children in last week's shooting, we would be disgusted and appalled. But Reagan was just as much my daughter, even though she wasn't born. I watched her kick. I watched her smile. I watched her wave at me. And in those early moments, I planned for our entire future. And I fell in love. I am learning time will never diminish the pain. Another child will never diminish the pain. I am going to have to live with this the rest of my life.
So Andrew and I are researching new places we can move where we won't be constantly reminded of what we don't have, where we won't see all the babies who Reagan would have gone to school with. I don't want to see my neighborhood pool where I had planned on taking her next year. I don't want to jog around the parks where I had planned on using my jogging stroller. There are too many painful memories everywhere. Too many opportunities for me to break down, which I have done with surprising consistency for the past several days. Right now we're thinking Singapore. It's actually a beautiful country. And as far away from here as we can get. Now, just to save up a little more money to buy the plane tickets, find some jobs, and we'll be all set