Three years ago, nearly to the minute, I got the news that rocked my world. My daughter had passed away. As I stared at her profile on the ultrasound, she still looked just perfect. Perfect upturned nose, little chin. But she was still. Her chest was empty; no flicker where we had just seen one the week before. That image, forever burned into my mind. The doctor glanced away and murmured "I'm so sorry" before stepping out to let me call Andrew. How do you even begin to say the words, to communicate to my unsuspecting husband that the appointment we thought nothing of would change our lives forever? To wait for him to rush down so we can hold each other. As I am sitting here, I feel my heart being ripped out all over again. Surely there must be some mistake. I still just want there to be some mistake. To go back in time and fix it all so my baby girl can be here playing right alongside her brothers. I want them to know her, to know her laugh and her little blonde curls and her smile. To not just know of her. As the years are moving on, it doesn't get any easier. The grief is still there, breaking me. I sometimes feel like I'm a shell of who I used to be, a piece of me is always missing and it's so hard to live life like that.
I am so thankful she was not born on the same day, that we have a separate day when we can celebrate her birth, her brief life, and all she means to us. I'm glad for these quiet moments, when my children are sleeping and I can just sit here and allow myself to feel again, to let myself go back to that moment, to let the tears come and not hide from them, to not have to be strong for anybody and just let myself miss my daughter with my whole being. It does nothing to bring her back, but it helps me to celebrate her with more joy tomorrow. Today is my sad day, tomorrow we're having a birthday party with the boys for their big sister.
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