I frequent blogs of bereaved parents now. That's what I do. I read what they went through, how their child died, how they managed to continue breathing, where they are now. Some are mad. Bubbling over with anger and hatred. Others believe God has a plan and their child dying is part of that plan. A few are religious God loving people, but they are still mad. Still struggling to make sense of the life they are forced to live without their child. All of them are sad. Inconceivably sad. I do not judge any of these poor people. Their child died, and there is no good or bad way to deal with it. One thing I have noticed is that the child that dies, is always the one who completed their parents. Not that they don't love all of their children equally, of course they do. Of course I love Lyvi just as much as I love Violet. But, it's always the child that was the missing puzzle piece that dies. Why is that? Is it just because the child died and these parents have them up on a pedestal now? No. It's not. I don't have Violet up on a pedestal. I don't make up or exaggerate our love and bond with each other. It was like something I have never seen or experienced before. Until she died, and I started frequenting blogs of bereaved parents. All of these parents with dead kids, they had the same bond and connection with their child. I don't know what this is. I don't really want to know why this is. I think maybe, its a mother's intuition. We know, at some level, deep deep down in our soul that these amazing missing puzzle piece children aren't going to be around for long enough. That doesn't make this ok. That doesn't give me any comfort. She should still be here. All these amazing kids should still be here. I always knew in my heart of hearts that something terrible would happen to me. I don't know how or why or what that is, but I always knew. I remember a conversation I had on the phone with my sister Angie when I was pregnant with Lyvi. I told her that something bad was going to happen, since no one else in our immediate family had something terrible happen. Angie and Lisa both had a set of twins who were healthy, no NICU or anything. I knew, I just knew. Then Lyvi got here and she was great. Not sickly. Amazing amazing little girl, who I am so so lucky to have. When I got pregnant with Violet I was terrified. Absolutely terrified that something was wrong with her. I truly thought she didn't have a brain, or that she was going to have heart defect. I asked at every ultrasound if her heart looked ok, if she had a brain, if all her organs were in the right spots. I was reassured every time that she was perfect, healthy. She was the wiggliest little baby. She never stopped moving. She would kick, squirm, wiggle, flip. Constantly. Even with all that movement I was still terrified that at any moment she was going to be gone. I was not in a good place mentally for most of Violet's pregnancy. I think a lot of that is because I was just so scared that this little baby, who I knew was going to complete my world, was going to die. I had a couple scares and thought she was going to come too early, and that she wasn't going to make it through a NICU stay. I ended up on bed rest and was able to keep her in me until 37 weeks. Even at that point I was terrified that her lungs weren't going to be developed and she was going to die. She was perfect, and so so healthy. After I had her I let myself relax a little bit. She was here, we made it through the pregnancy. That was the hard part, and she came out just fine. So, obviously she was going to grow up and do all the incredible things I knew she was meant to do. Until January 31st, I truly let myself believe that she was going to grow up. But, somewhere in the very deepest darkest corners of my soul I knew. I have friends I made through the internet during my pregnancy, and I always thought something would happen to make it hard to maintain these important friendships. I let myself selfishly think it would be someone else, something would happen to someone else. I didn't want anything to happen to my baby. I don't want anything to happen to their babies. Never, I would NEVER wish this on anyone. And, especially not them. I just didn't want anything to happen to my Violet. Even in those last hours where she was so sick. When she was very obviously dying, even when I could see her soul slipping away, even then I didn't let myself believe it. No way, there was no way this strong amazing little girl was going to die. No way. But, then she died. And I knew. I always knew. I didn't know that she would die from the flu. I didn't know that she was going to die at 5 months 12 days. I didn't know she would die, but I knew. I don't know if that makes any sense at all, to say that I didn't know she was going to die but I knew. It doesn't mean it was meant to be, or that there is some greater plan. It doesn't make any of this easier, if anything it makes it harder. The morning after she died, I was sitting on my couch inconsolably crying, saying over and over again to Angie "I knew. I always knew. I knew. I knew. I knew." And, she said, "I know you did. I know." I can't explain what it is. I don't think it's God. I don't think it has anything to do with anyone else, except for Violet and I. Unless you have felt it, you wouldn't understand. I hope so much that nobody else ever has to know.
Oh baby girl. Where are you? Are you ok? I miss you so much. Me, Lyvi, an your daddy were laying in bed tonight. I was tickling Lyvi, she was laughing so hard. Then out of nowhere she just said "Love Baby Vi!" I said, "You love Baby Vi?" She said, "Yes! Mommy love Baby Vi too. Daddy love Baby Vi." She misses you. Daddy misses you. I miss you. Everyone misses you so much. I'm so sorry that I always knew. It's not fair. Why couldn't it have been me. It feels like it should have been me. If I always knew why couldn't I have made the choice for it to be me instead of you. I wish I would have let myself believe it, maybe I would have been more careful. Maybe I wouldn't have gone out that day with you. I was careful with you, I didn't let you touch anything at the store. I wore you in my mei tai the whole time. You slept, and looked around. I still do not understand how you got the flu. I will never forgive myself for that. I look at your pictures and watch videos all the time. But I can't really remember what it was like to hold you. And nurse you. And kiss you. I remember it all, but I just feel so empty. I am so scared that I will forget everything. All the memories we made in those short 5 months 12 days. All those little moments where I would get lost in your deep green eyes, those eyes that knew more than any person should know. Maybe you knew too. Maybe that's why we had such a connection, it was not of this world. It was bigger than this world. We are all star stuff. I believe that you were more star stuff, you had more than normal people, that all your energy is here and everywhere and all around. That doesn't make me miss you any less. It doesn't give me any comfort, because you should still be here. I miss you. You will always be my Sweet Violetta Villalobos. I am so sorry. I love you, I miss you, and I hope you are warm baby girl.