We have internet. Finally. It wasn't actually as bad as I thought it would be to not have it. I have my phone that I can check my Facebook and Instagram. It was kind of nice being a little disconnected from everything for a minute. Not completely, but a little further away from the world that is madly spinning on. I jotted down a bunch of random thoughts in my phone. I guess the best thing to do is put them all down here. Maybe I will elaborate on some of them. Maybe I won't. I never know what I am going to write until it is written. So, let's see where this goes:
My loss is worse than anyone else's. In my mind. I know that is not true. Everyone's loss is unique and individual. I don't know how they feel. I don't know what it feels like to lose their child. But, they don't know what it feels like to lose Violet. Sweet Fiesty Violet. MY Violet.
In my mind my loss is the worst. I feel like it is the worst loss. But, I know it isn't. I know there are so many other moms and dads hurting just as much or more than me. I know the loss of their precious child is so much worse to them than my loss of Violet is to me. I don't know if this makes sense to anyone, other than fellow bereaved parents. I know to them it makes sense.
I wish I was a tree. It seems so peaceful. So beautiful. No dead babies. Just roots in the ground and the sun in the sky.
Ha. I thought this for about 5 days, everyday, as I was driving around town. I would look at trees with such envy. It seems ridiculous. Unless you really think about it. Trees seem so wise. So peaceful.
That moment when you have so much to do but you don't want to do any of it, so you decide to sit down and just cuddle your baby. And, then reality slaps you in the face. So, you do some laundry, unpack some boxes, and cry.
This was a day when I had so much to do. So much to unpack. I didn't want to do any of it, I wanted to sit down and cuddle with Vi. The last time we moved we had Violet. I could procrastinate unpacking because I had this sweet baby who I knew wouldn't stay little forever, ironic huh. I just held her and nursed her for as long as she wanted me to. Maybe because of that memory I forgot for a moment that I don't get to do that anymore. She isn't here. I don't get to procrastinate things because I would rather be cuddling my sweet little baby. I get to cry and be mad and unpack things.
I wish I was excited about the house. About anything. I don't think I'll ever be excited or truly happy again.
This doesn't need any elaborating.
Everyone is moving on. Moving forward. I'm still stuck. Everyone's babies are growing up, getting teeth, almost walking. Everyone is celebrating their babies. No one is celebrating my baby. Because she is dead. I'm terrified she will be forgotten.
This was a particularly dark day for me. I was so down in the dumps. So sad. There seemed to be an abundance of babies on my newsfeed, probably because I was only checking it every so often. I felt so hopeless. I was so sad. So sure that people are already forgetting her. Then the next morning a friend of mine wrote me on Facebook, just to tell me she thinks about me and Vi everyday, but doesn't know how often to tell me. Maybe other people think about her too, but just don't know how to tell me. Or are afraid to disrupt any sort of peace I have found that day. Let me just say that it doesn't matter if I am not heaving sobbing in the corner, I am not peaceful. I might be functioning, I might even be smiling. But I am not ok. I want, no NEED to know that people are thinking of her. I have never needed anything more desperately in my life. Well, other than her. Obvs.
I don't have room to be happy for other people anymore. Not really.
Self explanatory. I just don't have it in me to congratulate people. Or to be happy with what's happening in their lives. Which I know makes me a terrible scroogy person. Maybe one day I won't be such a pessimist. Doubt it.
I hate the phrase "it's always darkest before the dawn." What dawn? I was fully in the dawn of my life. Now it's dark and scary.
Not much to elaborate here. I don't see there ever being a dawn in my life, not the way it was when we still had Vi at least. Maybe like a martian dawn. Where the sun comes up, but it isn't nearly as vibrant there as it is here on Earth.
I have yet to find one story similar to Vi's. SIDS. Stillborn. Heart defects. Premies. Genetic abnormalities. Etc Etc Etc. This is NOT meant to diminish any of these losses. No no no. They are all tragic. I have just yet to find a story like ours. I want to find a story like ours. Desperately. I feel so alone.
Yeah. This. If anyone knows of a story like ours. Where the baby is fine. Then starts breathing funny. And dies 20 hours later, I would love to talk to that mom or dad. As I am writing this, it dawns on me that of course I know a story similar to ours. Madeline Spohr. Sweet sweet Maddie. http://thespohrsaremultiplying.com/living-with-loss/#axzz34veYc0n2
Lyvi doesn't have anyone to play with. All these pictures of siblings holding hands. All Lyvi has is ceramic molds of her sister's hands to hold. And I won't even let her hold them because I am terrified she will accidentally break them. It's not like we can just get new molds of Vi's hands. So, I keep them wrapped in bubble wrap in a pretty box on the top shelf of my closet.
This fact became so much more poignant once we moved. She doesn't have cousins living in the same house to keep her occupied anymore. It's just her. I can just imagine her and Vi playing. Lyvi being a nerd jumping around making Vi giggle. Vi chasing Lyvi around, pulling on her legs, stealing toys. Fighting. Oh I know they would be fighting already. Violet was so damn feisty. Lyvi is super sensitive. They would have been fighting. How weird is it that I want so desperately for my girls to be fighting. I would give anything to be breaking up fights between my toddler and baby right now. Anything.
Bad luck. All around bad luck. MRSA. Such a fluke. Bad luck. Positive Flu test when she didn't even have the flu. So they treated her for the flu. When she didn't have the flu. She had MRSA eating away at her lungs. While they treated her for the flu. God dammit. God fucking dammit.
This hits me randomly. And it takes me down. Hard.
I'm afraid to even start thinking about trying to have another baby. I don't want to forget or over shadow Vi. I know nothing and no one could ever replace her. But, I am terrified of dulling the pain and slowly forgetting how amazing she was. I just want her back.
I go back and forth between wanting another baby and being terrified of another baby. This may stem from my current aversion to all babies. I don't want to see other babies. I don't want to know what they are doing. I don't. want. to. see. babies. I know this is terrible. Some of my closest friends have babies. I know it isn't anyone else's babies fault that my baby died. But I am going to be irrational for awhile, and I guess I will take that out on other babies. I don't hate babies. I just don't want to see them. I am really rather scared that if we have another baby I will be sad to see that baby. Because that baby will not be Violet.
Depths of an almost 3 year olds mind are deeper than we give them credit for. Sometimes, like this morning as I was putting my bra on, something sparks and Lyvi wants to talk about Vi. She watched me putting on my bra and said:
"Baby Vi drink your booboos."
I said "Yes Sweetie, Violet drank milk from me."
"Because that's how babies eat, they drink breastmilk from their mommies."
"Baby Vi never come back." This was a statement, not a question.
"Yes sweet girl, Baby Vi will never come back."
"Why? Why Baby Vi go away?"
"I don't know why baby. She got sick. Too sick. But, I don't know why."
She stared at me for a long time with a sad deep look in her eyes, and then something clicked off and she started singing about eating cereal.
She talks about Violet so randomly, that I know she must think about her more than we give her credit for. This is so shitty. A toddler should not have to try and stretch the capacity of their growing budding minds to understand the reality and finality of death. Especially the death of her sister.
There it is. This is where I have been for the last bit. Pretty dark. Nothing positive. It was a really weird dark almost 2 weeks. The moving was/is harder than I expected it would be. We are here, but she isn't. She never will be. I knew that. My head knew that. But, I think maybe my heart doesn't. My heart still expects her to come back someday.
Oh Violet. I don't even know what to say here. You know what I am feeling. So many feelings, but I can't seem to put them into words. I just want you here. I want you to be crawling around exploring our new house. Pulling things out of boxes. Crying for me to pick you up as I'm trying to put things away and not pull my hair out. I miss you so much more here. I love you baby girl. I am so sorry you aren't here in this beautiful house with us. I am trying so hard to make it our home, but I'm scared that nothing will ever feel like home without you. I love you. I miss you. Wait for me, let's go to the stars.