Tacky but truthful and One Month Later

Many people have asked me -- "What can I do to help?" or have said "If there's anything I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask."

Here's the tacky but truthful answer...

You can buy me a book.

I currently have a wish list of almost 20 books on Amazon. This list comes after looking for about an hour. I'm sure I could find more, and I'm sure that you have more to suggest (And please do!!) I would love to be able to buy all these books myself...but I can't.

Many of you have said -- "I don't know what to say. I don't know the words to make it easier."

Here's a solution that makes everyone happy. You can help me. I can get help.

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"One Month Later"

Today is February 27th...She would be a month old today...

It feels like it was a lifetime ago that I was in the hospital. And yet when I think about her, I can still feel the weight of her body, and what it felt like to have my lips pressed against her forehead.

It wasn't that long ago...

I've been keeping busy in the last few weeks. I've traveled to Indiana to spend a week with my sister. I stayed in Missouri for a week with Brian's family. It has been wonderful.

However, I wonder, am I keeping myself too busy? Am I keeping myself occupied so I don't deal with this? So I don't grieve fully? I need to. I know this. But I don't know the answer.

Back to the first part of this blog. I am hoping that if I start reading some books it will push me off the edge and force me to deal with this. I want to deal with this. But it is so easy to distract myself. To think of all the upcoming events and details.

I think of her often. Every day. Every hour I am awake. I smile. I have fond memories. This is not the part I have problems with...

I need to grieve my daughter. I do from time to time - Hearing a certain song that makes me think of her; overhearing people talking about the joy of bringing their new baby home. There was no joy in bringing my baby home. She came home in a green velvet bag.

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I never know quite how to end these blogs. For me this blog is a glimpse of my thoughts and emotions on a computer screen. This blog is a window into my grief. To "properly" end a blog entry makes me feel as if I am telling you that my "grief session" is over for the day. This is not true. My grief is unending.

So if you've ever wondered why each entry as of late has seeming just stopped out of nowhere; now you know.

Why now?

***Disclaimer: This post is nothing but a rant. It'll probably only be up for a few hours til I regret posting it...oh well here it is. ***

People have been coming out of the woodwork lately to tell me how exciting it is that I am about to have a baby.

...uh....

This puts me in a very awkward place. I have NO IDEA how to respond when people say this. I either LIE or I make them feel TERRIBLE. Not to mention that it doesn't exactly put me in a great state of mind. I miss her enough without being reminded of the fact that I should still be pregnant. That I would still have two months to go til I'm due. That I shouldn't have seen her yet. That she should be ALIVE.

Instead she is ashes. In a green velvet bag. My baby should be moving and kicking inside of me. But she's not. Thanks for accidentally reminding me.

I don't want to be angry. I don't want to make people feel bad. I don't want to be in this position.

I miss my daughter.

This is my new life...I am now that woman.

This is my new life...I am now that woman...

Took my first trip to the grocery store last night. I was not ready. There seemed to be far more babies there than usual. Sometimes I forget she's gone; when I remember the pain comes on so strong I can hardly breathe. I am that woman who is crying in the middle of the frozen vegetable aisle. The one that you pity because she can't "handle her emotions in public".

This afternoon we went to Best Buy. Still not ready. First there was a woman holding a baby that couldn't have been more than six months old. A wave of panic started to hit me. I took in deep breaths, I released them slowly. I was determined to make it through this trip. Just as I felt myself start to calm down, I heard a voice behind me, "you better shut your mouth." The little girl had been wimpering (not crying loudly or screaming, or trying to get out of the cart). She couldn't have been more than two. Seriously? Why did he get to keep his daughter and I didn't? How can someone be so mean to their child for no reason? This made me livid. LIVID. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to tell him to appreciate her. To be thankful she was healthy and alive. If I had been there alone and not in the company of others, I might have actually said something. Instead, I got so upset that I turned into that woman again...I was crying in the middle of the bargain CD aisle.

Awhile later I joked with a friend about how if that guy didn't want her, I'd take her. But the truth is, I don't want her. I don't want a baby. I want Maggie. I want MY DAUGHTER.

We went to the funeral home yesterday. We had to legally identify her body. I had been both dreading it and almost looking forward to it. I wanted so badly to see her again. We were told "you can look but you can't touch." What? What do you mean I "can't touch"? She's MINE. This hurt far more than seeing her. I wanted to kiss her tiny hands. I wanted to feel her silky hair on my fingertips. I was terrified right before they opened the door, and then, there she was. She was in a tiny pink velvet casket -- it was the size of most of the shoe boxes in my closet. She was so much tinier than I remembered. She was beautiful.

I wonder what she would have looked like growing up. I wonder if she would have picked soccer or ballet? Would she have liked cats or dogs? Would she have been afraid of bugs or begged me to let her have a pet snake? I will never know. And I wish I did.

This is my new life...I am now that woman...

To all of you who have reached out to me, thank you. I am not ignoring you. I am so very grateful you are there. Please don't turn your back and walk away. I'll be there soon, but not yet. Keep bugging me. I'll come around eventually.

Love and heartfelt thanks to you all,
Kelli

My favorite poem.

This is a poem that I read many years ago when I was grieving the loss of a friend. It has stayed with me always and has brought me much comfort in the last week as I know it will in the coming days, weeks, months and years.

Adapted from Unknown Author from the original Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep by Mary Frye.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am sunlight on the ripened grain.
I am the autumn rain.
When you awake to the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush,
Of birds circling in flight.
I am the stars that shine at night.
Do not think of me as gone.
I am with you still - in each new dawn.

Come and gone, but forever in our hearts.

It has been the longest week of my life. Every day feels like it stretches on forever. I have been very blessed to have an amazingly wonderful and abundant support system. Thank you for all of your comments, thoughts, prayers, voicemails and visits.

In this past week time has ceased to make sense; days and nights....minutes and hours.

Tomorrow will mark one week since my daughter entered this world. It will also mark the day she left. We prayed that she be big and strong. Her daddy talked to her in the nights before her birth and asked her to be big and strong...and she did as she was told. She entered this world at 3 pounds 3 ounces and was 18 inches long. That's big. According to Baby Center she should have weighed less than two and a half pounds (some of this weight was fluid on her abdomen, but not THAT much) and should have only been about 15 inches long. My mother suggested that maybe I was further along than we thought. I know this is not the case because she was weighed and measured several times between 20 and 24 weeks and she always measured very SMALL. In fact, based on measurements from back then, the doctors thought I was actually about a week LESS further along than we thought. She fought hard and she grew big and tried to be very strong in the last month.

I'm not sure what happened exactly in the end. We didn't speak to the doctors afterwards, and even if we had I don't know that I would have remembered it. Shortly before her passing, a doctor came in and said that she was not getting enough oxygen to her organs and that were about to give out and shut down. But when the nurse called my mother she told her that Maggie's heart has simply stopped beating. As of right now, it doesn't really matter to me what happened. All I know is she is gone. She is not here with me. I cannot go to the NICU to see her. My daughter is gone.

Grief is like the ocean -- it ebbs and flows and there is the occasional tidal wave that seemingly comes from no where.

I miss my daughter.

I miss the weight of her body in my hands. I miss the smell of her skin. I miss the feeling of my lips pressed against her forehead. Her perfect bow lips and her tiny monkey toes. I miss my daughter and I would do anything to have her back for only a minute. I would do anything to be able to look into her eyes and tell her that I love her.

I will never know what her eyes looked like. I will never see her smile...hear her laugh. I will never feel her tiny hand wrapped tightly around my finger. Never put a band-aid on a boo boo. Teach her to ride a bike. There will be no dress up. No tea parties. No ballet recitals. No hugs when her heart has been broken. No tears at her wedding.

I miss my daughter.

This is not the way it should be. Twenty-three year old women should not have to decide burial or cremation for their child. Babies are not supposed to die. Women with abusive boyfriends and prostitutes with drug problems have healthy babies. Why not me?

God has a plan. He knows what is best. He would never give me a burden I cannot bear. He would never give me too much. He would never leave me alone to deal with this. I know this. I know He is in control. But it doesn't make it hurt less.

I miss my daughter.

Many of you have asked about a service for her. The answer is -- I do not know. The funeral home called this morning to let us know that her cremation will be taking place on Wednesday. I wanted so badly to have her body donated to medicine...for some worldly greater good to come from this. All of the organizations said she was too young and too small. This hurt me deeply. They did not want my daughter. It was like she was picked last for kickball. Like she didn't get an invitation to her friend's birthday party. Like no one put any cards in her homemade shoebox card holder in her class on Valentine's Day. It made me want to hold her even tighter and never let go. I wanted her.