10/15/12 Three days after we buried you.
It still doesn’t feel real that sweet baby girl is gone. Today was just a mediocre day . I didn’t find myself weeping or inconsolable. I had the vivid reminder left on my body. The milk that was supposed to sustain you has come in today–making me heavy and uncomfortable, and in physical pain. The hard part is, my body provides it in vain. It would all be worth it if you were here, close to me, so I could kiss your head–making sure your heart and your tummy were well fed. Such a haze has set in. I’ve lost something so great that can never be replaced–but gained so much that I never would have without the loss. I’ve never felt so much love from and for my husband. He has been my rock, and I can’t imagine a waking moment without him. I have a love I never knew I was capable of. The ache that was in my soul the day Ella left and the day we buried her has dulled–it’s not a sharp cutting pain–it’s heavy, quiet, and dull. Blunt pain. It’s still hard looking to the future, but I know I’m required to just live day by day. When I do think ahead I’m sad, confused and unsure. Part of my wants to fast-forward all of these different healing processes. The breasts, the bleeding, the cramping, the waiting to try again, the waiting to some how be whole enough to try again–and give all our love and enthusiasm to another baby. It’s so daunting. I just need the help to focus on today. Part of me is already sad that my body will go on. Ella won’t be a part of everyday conversation, people will forget, and life will go on. As much as I want it to, I don’t. I don’t want to forget or move on, or let go. I want to remember, love, and honor always. She deserves that from me. I’m just afraid–life, priorities, jobs, bills, commitments, groceries…all these petty things must carry on. We must be forced to live in a temporal world while Ella goes on in eternity. It’s just so not fair.