It wasn’t meant to be like this..

She was supposed to be our honeymoon baby.
She was meant to the rainbow baby who heals the wounds from our early miscarriages.

 She should have been starting school next week. A milestone,for most children a significant one especially for micro preemies.

Going into our 5th year of this, surreal experience. An experience everyone has opinion on,yet has no room to talk.
I’m being hit hard.
Five years ago this weekend we conceived her.
September we discovered her,
October we thought we were losing her,
November we saw her chilling on the screen.
December we were excited, for the following Christmas, you know, baby’s first one.
January she crossed her legs all shy.
February she was here. All feisty, our cheeky monkey.
March she kicked the nurses (and the doctor’s) asses.
April she was gone.

Tonight I’m feeling the heavy heart,the missing beat.
Writing my Butterfly Awards Profile. Putting together a presentation, my three year old, our baby who arrived after Melody sits next to me,watches as I go through photos of the girl she’ll never meet,her sister she’ll never kiss.

“I love my sister, Melody lives in the garden.”

An understanding that Melody isn’t here. Her beautiful innocence. An innocence I couldn’t protect their older siblings from. Her brother being the same age as our “rainbow” is now,when Melody died.
I couldn’t protect.

“Aw,she’s so beautiful.” She adds,she sees pictures of her all the time,there’s one on our wall.

It just makes the pinch harder.
I don’t look at her photos very often these days, not because I don’t love her, or don’t miss her.
I know it is assumed most bereaved parents sit and cry over photos on a daily basis.
I sometimes want to forget, return to innocence.
Days like today,when I’m working on such things, it beats me,holds me in a way it is hard to breathe.
From vent to just O2 nasal in a matter of days.
Her face,her hair,the one smile we had.
It seems impossible that she is our baby,and this is our story.

It feels like a lifetime ago since I held her.

I miss her.
But I’m OK. I need to be.

Just a wobble.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *