Ordinarily, I don't talk about her that much in public. Not because it's too painful or too uncomfortable, but because it makes others uncomfortable. It's not that they don't sympathize; they just don't know what to say and I get that. Most days, it's just easier to let people off the hook. But there's another reason too. She's mine. Stupid as it sounds, I feel I don't want to sully her memory by letting too many people put their grubby hands on it, if that makes any sense. Only people closest to me and those who've been through it with us really know any of the details and even then most of them probably don't know everything we went through. Not because it's secret, but because it's sacred... to me at least.

But this anniversary has been harder than the last few and I know that
much of my bitchiness over the past month or so is because this time of year is especially full of contradictions. Extreme sadness around not getting to spend the time we wanted with her and extreme happiness when the Dormouse was born about the same time three years later. (In fact, if we hadn't had to schedule Dormouse early for my own medical reasons, it's possible they could have shared a birthday. My technical due date with Dormouse was around the 23rd of October.) It's hard to really be happy or really be sad about either event. The past few weeks, I've just wanted to express... to talk it all out, write it all down, just to get it out, but the words haven't come to me. So I feel like for whatever reason, the relative anonymity of the internet seems safe.

She would be six years old today. She would be starting school. I see the children waiting for the bus each morning and I can't help but think that she could be there with them, playing tag around the street signs and talking about the latest fad toy everyone has to have. I would have started her in some sort of music lesson by now and be arguing with her Dad about when it was appropriate to study martial arts. She'd have friends of her own, opinions of her own and would be learning so much. I think about the person she could have become... and the person that she probably is now.

I want her to know that I remember her, that I think about her all the time and while the pain of losing her has gotten easier to live with, especially since her sister came around, it has never lessened or gone away like people promised me back then. And I'm glad, really. It means I haven't forgotten her. She did so much for us in the short time she was with us; I can't help but think sometimes that that was really her purpose here. I'm so grateful that I got to be her mother if only for a little while. And despite all the Families Can Be Together Forever mush that's spewed around all the time... I really believe it. I believe that we'll be together again one day and I'll get to hold her and love her in the way that I always wanted.

I can't wait for that.

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day - October 15th.

Each year, approximately a million pregnancies in the United States end in miscarriage, stillbirth, or the death of the newborn child. National observance of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, 1988, offers us the opportunity to increase our understanding of the great tragedy involved in the deaths of unborn and newborn babies. It also enables us to consider how, as individuals and communities, we can meet the needs of bereaved parents and family members and work to prevent causes of these problems.

~Ronald Reagan 1988