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?

I’ve tried to write but lately words have escaped me.

We visited Amelia’s grave yesterday. It was just a brown patch of grass, with no marker and no flowers. She was with us such a short time that it’s almost surreal she ever lived. Do you ever block out bad memories? I do. I can’t remember much of high school because my mind, with or without my consent, has chosen to pretend all of those boyfriends never happened. I must still be broken, because erasing the bad is how I’m surviving right now. This pain deep inside is still drilling its way through my tender heart, and as much as I want to pretend it was all a bad dream I know deep down it was all too real.

My memories of her are tucked away in two small boxes, and occasionally I’ll pull them down out of the closet. I haven’t washed any of her clothes, or any of  the clothes Tyler and I wore when we held her. They still smell like her, and every now and then I’ll catch Tyler picking a shirt up and holding it close. It’s beautiful to see the bond a father has with his daughter, even if she is gone from us. I never treasured Jack’s newborn smell like I did Amelia’s. Now he smells like a toddler boy, and I wish I had just left one outfit of his unwashed so I could keep those memories close again.

We donated her heart valves, did I tell you that? It was kind of pushed to the side and forgotten because we weren’t there to see it through at the hospital as intended (it happened at the mortuary.) I hope another baby (or two!) gets the chance to live a long and healthy life that otherwise wouldn’t have been able to. And most of all, I hope another mama was spared the pain of losing her child. I encourage you all to sign up to be an organ donor. It takes two minutes (or less!) and will save lives. (California, click here to sign up.)

I am The Great Pretender. I smile, I laugh. I get dressed in the mornings and fix my hair. But I miss her. I still find myself crying in the middle of the day, wishing I had a baby to hold. Shouldn’t she be waking up from her nap about now? Where is the second carseat in the back seat of the car? I snuggle Jack close and tenderly kiss his chubby cheeks, but he isn’t a replacement for my sweet Amelia. Last Monday Jack let me cuddle him while I cried. I kissed his face and sobbed of the life we lost. I love that boy. He doesn’t understand yet, but when he sees I am sad he tries his best to comfort me anyway.

We’re going to be okay, my soul and body. My chest is often heavy and my heart physically aches for her, but my spirit is alive and free with the knowledge that she’s where she needs to be.

She loves me – I can feel it. And when I remember that, even if just for a second, I am at peace.