Here I am again. Crying my eyes out in the middle of the night, for the daughter I will never hold again.
I want to go back to the time when she was alive and kicking. To the day she was born, silent. To the day I held her hand, for an hour before her funeral. Why didn't anyone tell me it was OK to hold her then? Why was she in the stupid box as I stood near?
One day, this too I will let go. But not tonight.
Sleep is impossible when all I can think of is her. The more time passes, the further I go from her, yet the more I love and need her. I would even take back the hours, the days, the weeks after her birth/death. I was so close to her then.
As my identity as Amelia's mom grows, matures, develops, Amelia herself becomes more distant. I feel like I haven't talked to her in ages, I mean, really talked to her. She still sends me reminders and I know she is always near, but I also know that at some point I had to let her do her thing and start doing my own. I guess like any parent does, just so much sooner than I wanted.
This is hard. Parenting a dead child is freaking hard. Most might assume that with the child's death parenting ends. Nope, it ends with the parents...
There is no big conclusion to this post. I miss my baby tonight and every night. I miss the toddler she would have been, the teenager, and the woman she would have become. I miss the grandkids she might have given me. She left a huge void for the rest of my life that will never be filled and it hurts really bad.
I love you forever, my little blueberry.