7 months today. It's amazing that it has been that long. I always have more of an emotional time in the few days leading up to the 13th of each month, and this time was no different. It's a hard month for a couple of reasons. 1st, we've past the 1/2 way point of the year and are well into the second part of the year, and 2nd, she has now been gone for longer than she was here. I was 7 months pregnant with her when she died. 7 months seems like so long and sometimes it's harder now than it was at first. It's been so long since I've held her or even seen her. Parents aren't supposed to be separated from their children like this. In other ways, it is easier. Time doesn't heal all wounds, but it sure does help. We've all learned better how to cope with our loss and how to handle these feelings that come. I still wonder sometimes if she will know me, and I fear that she won't. I sure hope that she does because I will know her!
When I look at her pictures, I try to find new things in them. I've stared at the same pictures for months now, and I do love them and treasure them, but sometimes I get frustrated because they never change. She will never change. When I see the picture of her casket before it was closed, and she's all wrapped in her blanket, every instinct in me wants to reach through the picture, scoop her up, and hold her close to me. She looks like a little bundle all comfy and cozy, just waiting for mommy/daddy/brother/sister kisses. Sometimes, I just beg and beg for her to be returned to me. I miss her so much. It's horrible sometimes hearing about other people's pregnancies or babies and knowing how much you failed. Failed so much that your daughter died, and not knowing exactly how you failed her, but somehow you must have, because she is not here.
Now that the hole in my heart is fixed, I focus on when I can get pregnant. I'm terrified, excited, hopeful, anxious. Before we found out how big the hole was, I was hoping to get pregnant, no matter the risk to me from it. I didn't care. After we found how how big the hole was, I felt fortunate that I hadn't gotten pregnant. My cardiologist said he was surprised that I had even been able to carry 2 babies full-term, and surprised about how much physically I had done in my life with my heart how it was. I am very fortunate to be here, I rolled the dice and won on this. I asked him again if my heart contributed to Clara's death, and he said no, because technically she died of a cord accident, but that poor baby was so so small. So much smaller than she should have been and she had definitely been struggling. I still wonder if my heart just couldn't support her and me, so my body decided to not support her. That really sucks. Now, it will take a year for my heart to heal. It will take a year to condition my body to function properly. My cardio said absolutely no babies right now, and go to every measure to prevent pregnancy. He said if my tests come back 100% perfect at 6 months post-op, he might consider giving me the go ahead at 9 months, but not to count on it. So, I am planning on a year and hoping that I can try this again. My heart doesn't beat right a lot of the time now, and I take meds to keep it in rhythm, and this can happen after getting it fixed, but I worry that it won't ever find the correct rhythm. The meds I take are known to cause harm to an unborn baby, so I can't get pregnant on them. Plus, if my heart is not beating correctly, it would be selfish to try to get pregnant. I can't adopt, nobody is going to let me adopt with my heart issues. Even though they should correct themselves and be okay, even having that on your medical history is a huge negative. What if I can't carry a baby again? What do I do? Maybe I should just be thankful for the 2 living children that I have. I am. I already am so thankful for them. That doesn't help my heart to not desire another living child. That is what keeps me going right now. That is where my eyes, mind, and heart are focused on. That's what gets me through every single day. I am terrified I won't be able to fulfill that desire.
The kids get nervous when Ken or I have to go to the doctor. I know it scares them. They have experienced the worst thing possible. We reassure them and every time we come back home from the hospital and things are okay, it helps them feel a little bit better for the next time. They are so brave and amazing. They just blow my mind how great they are with everything they have dealt with and are dealing with. Maybe having everything happen this year will actually end up being good. They can learn that you can go into the hospital and come out okay. There can still be happy endings for us.
Something that I've learned since Clara died; people really do care. It sounds so simple, but I never really believed it before. The amount of support that we received from our family and our friends, and still receive, is unbelievable. I have become more open with my emotions now and not so afraid to show them or to talk about them. I'm not as closed off as I was and I think that I am learning to be more loving and compassionate with others. If I've learned nothing but that from my daughter's death, that's more than enough. I am so thankful for what I have been given and for what I have. It makes me feel good that my family and friends still think of her and of us. I'm thankful that people are understanding of the fact that I might suddenly start rambling on about Clara and things that I want to do in memory of her. I'm thankful that people still cry for her. That means so much to a grieving parent, to know that their babies are being thought of, missed, and loved. To hear the words, "We love you, Clara" coming out of the mouths of people that I care about so much. Thankful for those that take the time to look at her pictures and let me show-off the few precious things we have of her, like any proud parent would.
Here is a quote from an episode of 'One Tree Hill' - "The hardest part of saying good-bye, is having to do it again every day".
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