Thursday, December 15, 2011

There has been a lot of talk lately

My biggest number one fear is being the only one who remembers my DD. It will be 6 years, come this spring. I went in on March 30th for my induction, and she was born at 12:18 (which is military time is 018, and had been my husband's jet number in the Air Force) on April 1st. No one thought it would take almost a full 3 days to deliver, it was like my body didn't want to let her go. To this day I feel like it is my fault some how, why couldn't I make her healthy? Why couldn't I protect her? When I felt the pressure to push, I remember with startling clarity, crying that if I could just keep her inside, she would be ok, that some how I could fix her. Please, please don't be born at 21 weeks, I can make you healthy if you just stay put. Please don't be born yet. Please my baby, please God let her be ok. Then they offered to let me hold her. My first thought, and please forgive me, was "I don't want to think my baby is ugly. What kind of mother would I be? Already I couldn't save her, and now I think she is ugly." At the last minute I changed my mind and I held her. She was perfect. They had her wrapped just so her face was visible. My Sara, I am so sorry, you are beautiful.

I still cry for her, especially around her birthday, and this time of year. This year it is worse because of what poor Michelle Duggar is going through. She lost her daughter Jubilee Shalom. And the rabid dogs are attacking them. They are getting judged for the name of the baby, for how they chose to memorialize her, for this being their 21st child. That some how they deserve this for having so many. It makes me sick that people are saying these things. How dare you people? Some of you are mothers, and I use that term LOOSELY. You veil your insults, you say things like "I am not judging but..."

Yes they have put their lives into the public eye, and public figures are judged. But is there nothing that is off limits? Shame on you who judge.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

March Madness

I hate this time of year.

Not because of the basketball, which I used to love. But because of the memories I have associated with the end of March. George Mason was playing Wichita State the Friday night before we found out there was a problem. George Mason was playing UConn the day after we found out something wasn't right. George Mason lost to Florida, the day we said goodbye.

I can't hear them talk about the brackets without a lump coming to my throat. I hate that this time of year has been ruined for me. It should be fun and light-hearted I can't help it.

It has been five years. FIVE years. For the most part it is an old pain, but this time of year the pain becomes raw, almost new again.

I can't remember where I read it, but the pain of losing a child is like a cut. Eventually a scab heals over the cut, but then something happens and the cut re-opens and bleeds like it is a fresh wound. Even if the cut heals you are left with a scar, even if it doesn't hurt, you will never forget that pain.