Bipolar · children · Death · Depression · Divorce · family · life · Loss · mania · Manic · marriage · Miscarriage · parenting · Seperation · Uncategorized

My little girl

June, June is a month that holds weight. June is the month that my mother was born. June is many things but June is ultimately the month I will never forget. You were everything I ever dreamed of.  I prepared as any mother would. I didn’t have much but all that I had was yours. The crib set up in preparation for your appearance. The soft small pink outfits that I folded time and time again. The tiny toys that filled your box. With every doctors appointment your heart beat grew stronger and stronger. I felt your kicks and your little hiccups. I loved you more than you had known. I loved you more than I had the chance to show you. You were so tiny in the sonogram and the overwhelming realization that you would soon be mine came over me. I felt blessed and afraid. Afraid that I would never add up, afraid that I couldn’t be a better mother, and hopeful that you would make me better.

Within one appointment, I carried you for a last month check up. You weighed me down and  I felt your pitter patter not too long ago. It had been days though and I grew worrisome. The doctor was hopeful that I was simply an overly worried young mother, she knew that all would be well and reassured me that I should cast my worries away. So I did, assuming that I was just overly protective. You see, I loved you so much. I was so worried and excited. I dreamt of you so many nights. I dreamt of your long black hair, your pale skin, the deep brown eyes that would stare at me with your dads long eye lashes. The smile that would break your fathers heart and drop me to my knees. You were my daughter before you even knew it.

That appointment , the doctor smeared the cold jelly on mommies tummy and the moment that I waited for each month came as it always did. It was time to see you move and squirm within me. It was a chance to see you and feel you and hear your tiny heart beat within mine. It was the moment I thrived for. It was immediate but I saw the concern within her eyes, I didn’t hear the beat of your heart. She smiled awkwardly at me. She rubbed the handle of her sonogram machine all around me, in hopes to find a sign of life. She only only saw the tear. Tear of your amniotic sac, the home that you have known since you were conceived. You at some point were lacking your nutrients, your home, your safety.

The sadness and despair to which the doctor had was inconceivable. She apologized as she excused herself from the room. She returned almost instantly with 2 other physicians and they all took turns confirming what my fears had already shared. You were gone. You no longer lived and squirmed within me. The absence of your kicks and the silence of your hiccups were a sign that you were gone. Rushed into an OR room where I was provided medication to contract and push you out was almost unreal. I didn’t have a chance to call daddy. I didn’t have a chance to call anyone.There was hope that if you were taken out they could save you. I didn’t take a chance yo slow down the process. I needed you. You see you were my salvation, I dreamt of you since I was a little girl. I dreamt of your appearance, how you would feel and the years that came after. I never let go of hope.

You came out and the silence was deafening. You were pale, you had the black hair I dreamt of, you were so small and fragile. You were beautiful. They let me hold you. I was in aww, I was in pain and I was alone. I was so young and I had no idea what to do. I wanted you to kick, to say surprise and start crying. I wanted you to breathe. I wondered how I would even begin to tell all those that waited for you in anticipation. How could I let you go? I couldn’t take you home. I considered it. I felt pain but the sudden realization of what had happened didn’t hit me. I was numb. I let you go and they took you away. I laid there frozen signing papers with no real understanding as to what I was doing. I was told that I would be transferred to the maternity ward. I couldn’t do it. To hear the song of every new baby brought into this world with a new life to be witnessed. To hear the sounds of babies crying all around me, knowing that yours would never be heard. I refused. I left and never returned.

Everyone around me felt anger, sadness and emptiness. I couldn’t understand or even process. You were gone. You would never lay on that bed that your dad and I built, You would never wear the tiny outfits we prepared. The depression deepened and everything within me shut down. Daddy had to pack everything away, No easy task I’m sure. I held a blank stare, I lost hope. I felt a feeling that I wish upon no-one. I loved and lost you in such a small time frame. Death had never been apart of my life, you were my first loss. I didn’t recover. I never could.

Every birthday I dreamt of how old you would be, how cute you are and what your personality could be at this moment. I envisioned your smile and sassy attitude, your tiny feet and little dreams. I imagined the look in your fathers eyes that would have been filled with so much love for his little girl. Every little girl that passes by me,  is you. Every babies little laugh is yours. The dreams that I have of you are so real that it hurts. Years have past and not a moment goes by that I don’t see your little face, feel your small body and smell your soft scent. Not a day or year goes by that I don’t want you. I dream, I hurt and I know that this emptiness will never go away but ultimately you are and always will be my little girl.

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