Friday, July 4, 2014

Independent Grief

Dear Harper, 

Today is July 4, 2014. It's scary, but I can remember exactly where I was and what I was doing four years ago today. The next few days are burned into my mind, as vivid as if they were only yesterday. 

We spent the day at the farm, and I didn't feel good. I did a lot of sitting because it was just too taxing to do much else. The kids played and lit fireworks, but I was just tired. Too tired to eat. To tired to sit. I was exhausted. 

It is four years later, and I am finding myself emersed in a sea of emotions. I am working on RAK for Harper to celebrate your life, but also mourning your death. I am unsure why, even as I write this with tears on the verge of spilling over onto my cheeks, this year has been the hardest so far. 

I am finding it difficult to sleep, difficult to eat, really, just difficult to function at the normal level. My aches and pains have worsened, dreams are more nightmarish and exhausting than not sleeping. 

Some say that it is your sister, seeing her doing things you should be doing but you can't because you're not here. Others say it is because I've had too much downtime. I think it is solely because I miss you. 

I think it is because life is finding it's natural rythm, leaving more time for my soul to finally process the hurt I am experiencing. 

In 5 days time, it will be four years since the doctor looked at me and said "I'm so sorry, kiddo. There is no heartbeat." And I think about how that makes me ache all over. No mother wants to give her child back and I was forced to do so. 

Fourth of July was a long and exhausting, if I had only known then what was coming...if I had only known, maybe I would have tried harder to enjoy myself at the cookout. 

July 5 was a much better day, I put on some shorts and baggy shirt, and I sat in the kiddie pool while your brother and sister splashed me. I think you really loved it, you were moving like crazy. The kids enjoyed it so much, our home is littered with pictures of them from that day. We were outside all day, soaking up the rays, talking about how life was going to change when you arrived...if we had only known. I would give anything to be that innocent again. To be free of the ever present grief. 

I feel like I have reached a point in my life, where I can truly grieve. I have time to begin to understand the heartache. I have time to process the emotions and work through them as they come. No longer do I have to frantically push them down and lock them away because I have kids who need me to be super mom. 

As I lay here, wide awake and exhausted at the same time, I cannot help but wander through those last few days with you. Remembering all of those fleeting moments. Realizing the finality in it all. I weep in intermittences without warning or provocation, because you're not here and I just miss you. 

Fireworks are booming in the distance and my heart is pounding to their beat as I lay here and wonder about you. How life could have been. I think it's the ever looming what ifs, and what could have beens that I miss almost as much as I miss you. You would be nearing four, we should be celebrating with a party suited for a princess, instead I am planning a memorial in your honor. 

My heart is hurting this year, and I can only say that I miss you more than these letters could ever begin to express. 

As those fireworks boom into the heavens with you please know that I love you with all I have and that I am here, remembering you, your precious face, and perfect tiny fingers and toes. 

I love you sweet bean, 


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