July has been a hard month, many events and milestones. The 2-month mark of Audrey's birth and death, her due date, family coming back for visits, a sweet boy being born to a good friend who I was pregnant with, Ella's birthday, and just the thought that this was when she would have been joining our family. Some days I want so badly to be normal and do the things I need to do but I just can't. The good days come with the bad, but I'm glad the good keep returning also.
Here is something I wrote one night last week:
It was the worst day of my life.
The day she was born was wonderful but scary. The day we found out the news we were hoping not to hear, that was painful yet bittersweet because she was still with us. Mother’s Day was sweet, being with both of my girls. The day she died was strangely peaceful. The peace of God, of course, although it was hard to let her go and leave, it was also special knowing she was with Jesus.
But the day we had to bury her. It was horrible. That little body, the one I carried for 7 months, the one I gave birth to, the one who lived and breathed, the one whose hand I held and face I kissed. She was in a casket. It was 19 inches long, and she only took up 13 of those inches. We bought flowers for the top of our daughter’s casket. We stood there with amazing, not-understandable peace, talking to friends and family who had come to cry with us. We listened to a message about the faith we have that we will see her again.
Then it had to close. The lid had to go on. I sat and watched as he covered my baby girl with a blanket…just wanting to snatch her out of that stupid white bed and keep her. I wanted this horrible nightmare to end. Never again on earth would I see that little face or hold that little body. Excruciating.
No parent should have to do this with his or her child. WHY? WHY? WHY?
At the cemetery was a pile of dirt and a hole. My baby was going to be put in the ground. How in the world am I supposed to get used to this?!? My 3-year-old daughter is trying so hard to understand, to love her sister even though she is not here with us. I can’t even understand it, how can I expect her to get it?
We finish our short service and they put her in the ground. Then start shoveling the dirt. This baby girl won’t be going shopping with me, or to the park, or to get Diet Cokes. She won’t help me fix supper, she won’t ask me questions until I’m blue in the face, and she won’t run up to me while I’m putting on make-up and just hug me while looking up at my face with big beautiful eyes and a huge grin. She won’t give me slobbery kisses, and I won’t get to paint her nails.
Why did He say “NO” to us??
Audrey would have been here now had she gone full term. I would have been getting up in the night to care for her and feed her. Instead I’m getting up in the night to write this.
Tonight at Audrey’s grave Ella put her ear to the ground. I asked her later why she did that and she said she was trying to see if she could hear Audrey. Then before we left she “hugged” the ground in order to give Audrey a hug.
When we left Ella's birthday party she told me she wanted to send one of her pink balloons up to Audrey. So she did. And she stood there and watched until she could not see it any longer. She did not move, and when it was just about out of sight she said,
"I miss her."