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.