I woke up this morning to eyes so swollen they would barely open.
My daughter died two weeks ago today, but until now I’ve been in denial about it. My mind tries to erase the fact that she ever even existed as part of my family. I’ve been coping and distracting myself from how hard this really is, and how alone I really feel.
Before Tyler hopped out of bed to take a shower, he kissed me on the forehead and told me I was beautiful. I usually try to return the kiss and thank-you smile at him, but my eyelids were almost fused shut. What is happening to me?
And then I remembered.
Last night, for the first time since we found out about Amelia’s condition, I truly cried. I finally cried from the inner depths of my soul. I cried endless, heaving sobs as Tyler held me. I couldn’t breathe. My chest was thick and heavy like bricks had been placed on it. I came so close to screaming from the pain and anguish I felt.
I was resentful, but at whom? My mind kept repeating the words, “we grieve only for that which would have been our delight.” Couldn’t this have happened to someone who doesn’t desire to have children? Because we would have been delighted, God, to have Amelia as part of our earthly family.
I kept picturing Amelia as a little four-year old with bouncy blonde pigtails carrying a lunchbox to preschool, and how we would have loved her so. Amelia, we still love you so, and as much as you belong in Heaven, I wish you were still in my arms.
I physically ached last night to hold her close to me. My body shook. My arms and chest hurt with soreness and longing for that which I missed out on. I would gladly give up my sleep to nurse and cradle an infant in my arms, but instead I’m giving it up to grieve.
I feel empty, like part of me is missing and I can’t find it anywhere. I just want to sit and cry all day long for my lost baby.
She’s just lost, right? Someone will find her and bring her back to me before the days’ end?
Alie, how can you not grieve for what is lost? I cry again as I grieve with you but you must never forget that those opportunities to hold Amelia and enjoy experiencing her growing up are not lost, only postponed. Think of the joy Tyler’s mom must feel getting to spend time with her in heaven when she didn’t have the opportunity to finish raising her own children. You and I both know you will have the opportunity someday to hold Amelia in your arms and fix her beautiful white, blond hair. by the way, why do your children allways have so much hair? We are all so jealous! Hang in there, I love you! Mom
Hi. My name is Beatrice. I have been reading your blog for a while. This post just breaks my heart because I have been in your shoes and I have gone through a lot of the same emotions…You see, 15 months ago, today, I gave birth to a little baby boy named Oliver. We found out at our 20 week ultrasound that he had a fatal birth defect called Potter’s syndrome and he was not going to live long after birth. It was so hard to go through every day of the pregnancy, knowing that he was going to die….I tried to get ready to meet him. I never realized how hard it would be after I had him…. My baby lived for a little over an hour. The pain was so excruciating. My whole body and soul ached for my baby. I just want to reassure you that the pain will lessen with time, it will get easier to bear. I know I will see him again, that he is ours forever. Just know what I am praying for you. I know how hard the first months are after you lose a baby…Big hug.
Alie, you and your family are in my prayers. I’ve never met you but I think of you daily. I work at the donor network and we spoke on the phone a few times. You touched my heart with your grace and strength. Grieving for Amelia is an important thing to do. Talking to you changed my life and felt like a holy experience. I feel honored and humbled to be able to hold your daughter in my heart. Hang in there. xo