One Month Ago

One month ago today, Valentine's Day, my daughter died. It might as well be ten years, or one hundred. I feel like I was a different person then, before I found out that my baby was gone. I wish I could go back and relive a day when she was still here, just so I could feel her kick again, and to feel the innocent joy and trust that everything would be okay. Sometimes I get phantom kicks and forget for just a millisecond that she has gone away from me.

I thought to myself today that, if I could go back and not become pregnant with Haven just to avoid the pain of losing her, I wouldn't. Honestly, the almost-year that she was growing in me was the absolute happiest my husband and I had ever been. The joy she brought me bubbled up and spilled all over the place. And, you know, I wouldn't trade that messy joy for anything. My little girl was surrounded by love from the beginning of her life to the end...and beyond. Until my heart stops beating, I will love her with every fibre of my being.

We visited Haven's burial plot today. It hurt. Her plot is like an angry gash in the earth right now, just a patch of dirt scarring the cold ground above her tiny casket, a single dead rose laying before her grave marker. She is in the "baby" section of the graveyard; I cried for my dear one and for the other babies as we walked by their stones. I thought to myself that it just isn't right to have to bury your child. She should have grown old and buried us when the time came. Oh, my heavy heart.

The wind blew wild and cold today, just like it did from the time she died until we got home from delivering her. I can't hear or feel the wind without thinking of her anymore.

I love you, beautiful one.