Birthdays and Holidays

For days now, I have felt like I have so much to say that I want to write something but taking the words from my mind and typing them out just seems impossible.  I should have a 1-year old daughter.  We had a beautiful party to celebrate her life that brought Joe and I some real pure joy.  We donated 81 books to CHOP in memory of Mira and felt so proud to have our girl’s legacy be honored. Joe and I just opened gifts we carefully selected for each other.  We loved our gifts and the love and thought behind them.  But, what we really wanted was to have a beautiful 1 year, 1 week old little girl to show how to open presents.  To watch her start to understand the magic of Christmas and giving.  We will read the Christmas story from Luke to Mira tonight as we light her candle, but I wish instead I had taken her to church on Sunday to hear the story, even though she would be too young to understand. 

Over the last year, I have tried to be honest about my journey with Mira and grieving her loss, but there is no real way to put words to the stabbing, drowning, pain of grieving your child.  Last Christmas, I was home from the hospital for 5 days and it was exactly one week out from Mira’s birth and death.  I barely remember it to be honest.  I remember sitting.  Sitting on the couch.  Sitting in the basement.  Sitting at the table.  All with a bear in my arms and a blank look on my face as I tried to keep up with what was happening around me.  I remember very little of that first month home.  I was a zombie, numb and in shock.  I remember talking to people who stopped by or family that stayed over or taking a shower or other daily activities, but not really being sure what I was doing or saying.  I remember clinging to the bear, desperate to survive, but not sure why I was bothering.

This Christmas looks more like, forced smiles and jokes.  Joe and I’s usual picking on each other and sarcasm, as we try to push through.  It looks like finding some true happiness in giving my husband a gift and getting something from him that shows how well he knows me.  It looks like trying not to cry when the gifts are done, because there should be so, so much more.  It looks like finding a way to smile and laugh so I can facetime my brother, but then falling into bed (with a bear again) and not finding the will to get up for quite some time.  Last Christmas was pain, but more so numbness and shock.  This Christmas is desperately trying to find some joy while feeling the pain of being a world away for the person I most want to share in the magic with.