My life has been really good. I might have told you that before this, but I haven't quite understood it fully until now. I have come to realize that there have been few to no reasons for me to work through what it means to grieve. I have know tragedy so rarely that I haven't even been able to admit to myself or recognize that I too have to work through grief in real tough ways. I have also come to see that even in our darkest days, we are graced with people who help us understand. People who will listen, cry, scream, laugh, and talk through every thought or emotion that finds its way to the surface. Also, there are people who simply look at me with eyes of pure empathy as they begin to share their very similar stories that are no less tragic.
In a sense, these few blogs are my attempt at both of those things. I want to figure out what it means to grieve the lost of my sweet child, but I can't do that without then sharing my journey. I have no hope other than to put my thoughts out there and find some solace that they honor my baby girl. Selfishly, I hope it sparks some courage in others who have shared any of life's hard times to open up and share them with me. I find endless strength in the continued journey of others who have gone before me. I don't know exactly how to be in this place.
Not long ago, I drove the long journey back home because I couldn't fight the strong pull to be in the company of my newborn baby girl Cecilia St.Clare. If you don't know by now, my baby isn't with me because she died during the last few minutes of my labor. There was nothing wrong with her. She was perfect. My doctors, and every doctor who has been brought into this anomaly of a tragic birth, are still unsure of what in the world went wrong. We have had no real answers other than a few minor things here and there that "could" have contributed. I was full term, labored normally for over 20 hours, and my perfect baby was born a healthy 7lbs 13oz, 21 inches long. Her heart was beating until the very end. To say I'm confused about why she isn't here is an understatement.
I spent five days, cross-legged at her grave site trying to work through what I can't wrap my mind around. The next few blogs are these thought. Some of them are repetitive and confusing. All of them are written from the deepest dark place I've been as a person. They are what they are.
This Mother's Day carries a weight around its neck that has never been there before. This is my heart, as a mother, to the tiny little girl who gave me that title. I pray that it honors her and every mother everywhere. What a privilege I have had.
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