Memorial Day

Today we attended a memorial bench dedication at Vilas Park in Madison. Lily's name was added to one of the memorial benches by the playground. I've had this romantic idea that one day we'll be able to take our kids to Vilas and sit on her bench while our kids play. It'll be a nice family outing with everyone present in some way.

During the bench dedication ceremony, one of the speakers mentioned that after you make it through that first tough year without your child, the realization sets in that you have to get through another year without your child. That's where we're at now. It's been a year since Lily died. We've made it through all the "firsts." First holidays, her first birthday. It should be getting easier right? Some days it is. But other days it's not and honestly I'm exhausted from this grief. The thought of going through another year of this is too much. I just want the sadness to be over.

And I would not have guessed that Memorial Day would be a hard day for me. We already got through our first Memorial Day without Lily and it didn't seem that bad. Granted I don't remember that weekend last year so much. I remember playing with my nephew at Brat Fest but the rest of the weekend is a blank. In reality all of May last year I was just in a fog ... as I was most of the summer.

Today was hard. The memorial bench dedication ceremony was nice and it was great to be with people who truly "get it." Yet at the same time, we were surrounded by families at the park. Children playing everywhere. We've sheltered ourselves from seeing parents with their children at holidays. We've basically spent the last year hiding from the world on holidays. It's still not easy seeing families picnic and children playing. I just wanted to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head and stay there.  All of this still even after a year's gone by.

It's also a difficult day because my niece was born today. My mom texted just before the ceremony started to tell me that my sister-in-law was in full labor and it wouldn't be long now. And it wasn't. By the end of the ceremony, a new little girl was born into the world.

It makes me sound awful I'm sure, but I'm so sad, bitter and angry. I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't feel like meeting her this week. I don't want to have to talk to my brother and sister-in-law at all. I don't even want to see her pictures posted on Facebook. I feel like the worst aunt ever. And it's so hard because I've always loved being an aunt. I probably take more pictures of my nieces and nephews than their parents do.  When my brother's first son was born two years ago, I was at the hospital right away. I cried when I met him.

Today I'm crying but not tears of joy. I just keep wondering why did Lily die? Why didn't she make it? Why do some parents get to see their kids grow up when I never got to know mine? Why are the only things I get to do for her are memorial services or walks in her memory or other things in her honor? Why doesn't she get big announcements of her birth, birthday parties, and pictures plastered all over the place with everyone commenting on how beautiful she is? Why did she have to die?

I know I'm never going to have the answers to these questions. Not that I'd be satisfied with Lily's death if there were answers. But I wish I could stop asking these questions. I wish my whole life wasn't going to be spent trying to resolve this.

Love at First Sight

A year ago today, I began believing in "love at first sight." We loved Lily from the moment we found out we were pregnant with her. After her first ultrasound at 8 weeks, my husband put her pictures in a heart frame we got for our wedding. But it wasn't until she was put on my chest and I saw her perfect little face, that I really knew how deep my love for her was. It was overwhelming. She was exactly who we were waiting for.  Exactly whom we wanted to meet.

She was born at 9:30pm.  She weighed 12 ounces and was 10 inches long. She looked like her daddy. She had his nose and his mouth. And his head. I tease my husband now that it's a good thing he's losing his hair because we'll always know what Lily's head looked like. She also had big feet, most likely just like mine. She was the most beautiful baby I'd ever seen. Everything about her was perfect.

I woke up this morning and for a brief second I forgot how sad I've been the last week. Then I remembered, and burst into tears. Just like the days after she died, when I'd wake up and think it was all a dream. I wasn't sure how I'd make it through the day.

Then I started seeing signs from my little girl. I logged onto Facebook and saw that CarlyMarie, who does the Names in the Sand photographs, had posted a random picture she took last night. The beach she takes the images at was full of people and it was hard for her to get pictures without people. The photo she posted had Lily's name in it. It wasn't for our Lily of course, but I was happy to see it.

Later I got an e-mail from my little brother. He told me he didn't realize Lily and the author of Mr. Happy had the same birthday. Another sign! My little brother and I used to read the Mr Men and Little Miss books when we were kids and I read them to Lily when I was pregnant.

It was very comforting. She's here with us in some way.

Happy 1st Birthday lil' girl. We love you and miss you every day.

Mother's Day

Last year on Mother's Day, I was lying in a hospital bed begging my baby to hang on. I didn't want her to be born on Mother's Day... knowing she wouldn't be born alive. I didn't want her death associated with Mother's Day forever.

Today was rough. I expected it to be sad. I didn't expect crying for hours this morning. I was having panic attacks similar to ones I had immediately after Lily's death. I sobbed, could barely breathe, and couldn't stand. It physically hurt. These waves of overwhelming sadness continued the entire day. I didn't get out of my pajamas until after 7pm.

My husband has final exams this week, and, in fact, had an exam at 7:45am this morning. So I didn't expect that he would do anything special for today. It was still hard to not do anything. I felt disappointed. I made myself breakfast. I bought myself a nice dinner. I watched whatever I wanted to on television. I hid out from the rest of the world. It was a very lonely day.

Then again, I don't know if I'm worthy of any big celebration. I'm still having a hard time grasping the fact that I am a mother. I don't have any children at home. I gave birth to a child that didn't live outside of me. She was only with me for five months. But I did go through labor. I held my baby. I have pictures of her. She happened. I remember practically every moment of it. But do I deserve a day to celebrate my motherhood? I feel like I failed at the motherhood part...