I have not spoken much or written much about the lose of my first DI baby girl. I mention it in sadness to my husband every now and then, but it is not something I have worked through with words or keystrokes typed on a screen. I have scratched a few barely legible thoughts on pieces of scrap paper, but when I read them back those words hardly seem to encompass the enormous loss I feel.
When I look at my baby girl playing and laughing I sometimes think I should be hearing 2 little laughs and seeing 2 little girls playing.
The baby I lost would have been named Tobee Mae. She would have been born November 18th, 2007, and she would be 1 year and 5 months old today. She would be a big sister, she would be walking and starting to talk. She would be learning about the world with big observant eyes, she would be giggling and playing with her little sister, her mummy and her daddy.
However she died on June 2nd 2007 and her ashes remain in a little porcelain box in my dresser drawer. I don’t know what to do with the ashes, or the box. Sometimes I pull it out and cry and kiss it.
Here is just one of the few things I wrote shortly after we lost her:
“Here we sit with this death. Ten little fingers and ten little toes. They told us you would be deformed, but when I looked at you, your eyes peacefully closed, I saw nothing wrong. We made the decision we did, we pained and you died, and when I saw you I never cried. Tears have come since that day, and the hurt has weighed heavily on its prey. I am weak without the thought of you in me, and I am left baffled by the reality that has left us again just two, alone for yet one more day. Seven years I waited for you, looks like I’ll have to wait Eight. Baby Mae, my little girl come back to us when you are stronger, we can’t wait for the day we will see you again, healthy and happy in our arms.”
“I wanted so much to touch you, but was afraid my one touch would harm you further. Your eyes were closed and you were dead. You were four months of hope and will be our little girl that was wanted so much. I wondered when it was that you died. When did your ailing heart stop beating, when did your tiny arms and legs stop moving, when where you floating free in me, unable to comprehend your fate, when was our decision a part of your peace? Was it when I was laying on the bathroom floor wondering when the pain would stop, laying there trying to figure out how I got here…..was it when we were hospital pity cases? I wish I knew.”
Am I supposed to scream about this pain, am I supposed to crumble under this loss, am I supposed to sit here and chew my hair, lost in my thoughts staring off into space. I am not functioning that way, I am not adhering to that plan. I am instead fumbling forwards feeling weak and lethargic, rather silent in my feelings. I am tending to my baby that is here with me, even thinking about the next one that may come, but always feeling a knot in my stomach, a knot that tightens every now and then when I think that there should be 2.