Father's Day

When my husband and I started dating one of the things that attracted me to him the most was the way he was with children. He spent a lot of family events playing with his younger cousins or my nieces and nephews. I always thought he'd be a terrific father.

One of my greatest struggles through the loss of Lily is dealing with the guilt. I have a draft post on guilt but it's heartwrenching to write so it's taking a while. A big part of the guilt I feel revolves around my husband. I feel like I robbed him of the chance of being a dad.

He brought up having kids about two days after our wedding. It was so incredibly cute to hear him talk about having babies right away, but we just got married. I told him maybe we should get used to that first! We agreed to wait a while. Lily had other plans though. Two and a half months after our wedding, we found ourselves expecting our first child.

My husband was so incredibly excited. After our first ultrasound at about 9 weeks, he immediately framed the picture of the baby, which of course looked like a blob. We didn't even have our wedding pictures framed! But he took a heart frame we received as a gift and put the ultrasound pictures in it. Every night he'd ask when the baby could play t-ball. When would we sign him/her up for Little League? Anytime I complained about my uterus stretching or pulling or just generally feeling huge one day, he'd just smile, rub my stomach and say "it's his house."

The day Lily was born, and we knew she wouldn't survive, my husband didn't eat. He didn't sleep. He wouldn't leave the room. I'd never seen him so nervous and upset. With every contraction I had or push I would need to do, he'd wince and put his head down and try to hold back his tears. I found myself comforting him that day.

Seeing him in pain that day and the days that followed was unbearable. While at times it seemed like he was adjusting to life without our daughter and that he was healing faster than I was, I could always tell when he was having a hard time. Lily's baby blanket would move. Lily's picture - still in the heart frame he'd picked out for her - would be at the edge of our nightstand instead of in the middle. Sometimes when he was drifting off to sleep at night or just barely awake in the morning, he'd mumble Lily's name. It broke my heart. It still does.

I tend to think his heartbreak is my fault. I know deep down it's not, but I can't stop thinking this way sometimes. I feel like he married a defective woman. Maybe he should have gotten all the facts before committing to me. That whole "check under the hood before you buy" thing. I should have been able to fully disclose the situation. I should have known my uterus was abnormal. I should have been able to warn him. I should have figured out this incompetent cervix thing before we got pregnant and taken all steps necessary to keep his child safe.

My body didn't just fail me that day.  It failed him.

I feel like if he'd married someone else he would have been spared all this. He could have a child by now. He could be a father already - maybe to even more than one. He could have celebrated Father's Day the way "real" dads do. He wouldn't have had to endure the awful pain of losing a baby. He wouldn't have to worry we may lose another. He wouldn't have to wonder if he will ever have a baby at home. All of this wouldn't be an issue - if only he hadn't married me - the defective wife.

I've apologized to him on numerous occasions over the last year. I've told him how I feel guilty and responsible for his heartache. I've told him "if you'd married someone else..." His usual response? "But then I wouldn't have Lily."

That response makes me smile. It proves to me how wonderful he truly is. It reminds me why I love him and just how much I do.

My husband is a great father. I just hope one day we can bring a baby home.

Lily's Urn

After Lily's death, my husband and I decided to have her cremated. We'd never really thought about death before. We were not sure what we wanted done with our bodies after our deaths! We didn't have plots in a cemetery and I wasn't certain I wanted to pick something out for Lily especially if we were to move at some point. Mainly though, I didn't want her to be alone.

So we had her cremated. People told us we could spread her ashes somewhere special. Perhaps the park where we got married? But really, I didn't want to do that. I wasn't ready for her to be anywhere but with me. I'm still not.

Her urn has occupied a spot on our nightstand ever since. She's cradled by a bear the hospital gave us and her baby blanket is nearby (that is when the blanket's not cuddled up with us while we're sleeping).

Her cremains were originally in this horrible plastic box the funeral home supplied. The funeral home told us that they would give us a temporary plastic urn. What we actually received was an awful plastic box with a sticker on it with her name. It resembled a box used for holding evidence in a crime rather than an urn for a sweet baby gone too soon. Eventually, after months of trying to find the "perfect" urn for Lily, my dad and stepmom gave us one we could use "temporarily" until we found something we liked. It is a small box that is adorned with a cross and the quote "Those we have held in our arms awhile, we'll hold in our hearts forever." We decided we would use it permanently.

When we leave our house - even for a night - I always feel the need to either bring her urn with us or keep it in the fireproof safe. It seems strange locking her in a safe, but I would feel worse if the house burned down and we lost her again. This also goes for tornadoes. Whenever there's severe weather I tell my husband "we have to make sure to grab Lily before heading to the basement."

Well, last night we had severe weather (today the weather service confirmed it was a tornado). Suddenly it started raining and the wind was incredibly strong. We looked out the window to see the trees bending in ways they shouldn't and rain coming down in circles. My husband, who normally goes outside in severe weather to "check it out," even agreed we should go to the basement. Within a few seconds the tornado sirens went off. Without words we both ran upstairs first - I grabbed Lily and her bear and my husband grabbed her baby blanket. On our way down to the basement I also picked up her memory box.

Settling into the basement, I went to set her things down and my hands were very full. Lily's urn slipped and fell onto the cement floor. The edges of her box chipped off. The chipped corners cannot be fixed. The pieces shattered so not even glue will help.

I felt awful.

I always feel I "can't keep anything nice." New clothes get stained or torn; shoes get scuffed too quickly; straps of purses always break on me; books get dirty; my cell phone gets scratched; iPod gets dropped; you name it, I seem to ruin it quickly. But I've always been so careful with anything associated with Lily. I want all of it to be perfect. Despite that, I still managed to ruin something of hers. And not just anything... her urn. Her final resting place.

I'm so mad at myself.

My husband had gone back upstairs for the radio so I had to tell him I dropped the urn when he came back. I started crying and he told me it was okay and wasn't that bad. The bear covers the badly chipped corners when he cradles the urn. I guess you can't really tell. But I know they're there. Of course, the couple of chipped corners it has now are better than it being completely smashed in a tornado.

But still, I'm sad it's ruined. I'm angry with myself for not taking better care of her! There's so little we have of her. I wanted it all to stay perfect.