I haven’t been able to bring myself to write in a few weeks. To be honest, I’ve just been sad. I can’t tell you exactly what’s wrong, other than that I’m so deeply, deeply sad because I miss my daughter. I keep seeing a quote that says something along the lines of “If I could love you back to life, you’d still be here.” I feel this so much. I love her so beyond words, so beyond my own understanding — that I know she would be here if love could bring her back.
I was very fearful of this period when Maddie first died. When the dust settles. When the Earth would keep spinning, even though my world was shattered.
It seems that life keeps moving, faster and faster. Time doesn’t stop. Responsibilities don’t stop. We still have to work. We still have to go to Costco and the gym and get the mail and get the oil changed and pay bills. People still get pregnant and have babies and most of their babies will grow up.
I’m scared that people will forget Maddie, even though I try to keep her alive in any way that I can. I’m scared I’ll forget pieces of her, even though I’ve written them all down. I don’t want to forget anything about her. I don’t want her smell to wear off of her blanket, or to forget exactly what she sounded like when she cried or cooed. This feels like losing her all over, when I think about these fears.
The parts that hurt most right now are the empty ones. My empty arms on the airplane this weekend, when she would have been in my lap. The emptiness where a beach tent would have sat to keep her out of the sun at the beach. Our silent room at night, without white noise or her cries. I feel this deep, endless emptiness and I miss my baby girl so much. Why can’t she be here to fill those spaces?
It will have been four months on Thursday. It feels like a lifetime. I hate that time goes on, and my daughter doesn’t. We’re growing and changing and she never will. I find myself daydreaming every day, in almost every situation of what it would be like if she were here. What she would be doing, how she would be interacting with us and Greyson, what outfits she’d be fitting into now. I clicked on an ad for Halloween baby outfits the other day, pretending — for just a second — she would be here for me to buy one for her (and a matching bow, of course).
In truth, I’ve been compartmentalizing quite a bit these past few weeks. I read a book, play a game, bury myself in email if it gets too heavy. I’m scared to break down, scared to cry because I don’t know if the tears will stop. I know they will, and I know they will come again. It’s just too much to feel it all sometimes, I guess.
I’m sorry that this post is sad. I don’t want to make anyone sad by posting it, but I just need to get it out. I do still have so many moments of happiness and all things considered, I know I’m so lucky and have a beautiful life that I’m thankful for. I just wish my daughter was here to experience it with us, physically.
Thanks for reading, as always, and thanks for walking with me and my boys on our journey. It means the world.
Missing you, Maddie. Always.