Tuesday, November 1, 2011

the smallest jar

This is from the comment I posted after reading this post on Glow In The Woods.

This post was heart wrenching because it feels so familiar. Our baby's ashes are in a bag, in a white plastic container, in a safe, in the basement. I wish I could carry them in my pocket. I would like to get an urn. It's time to do this.

As I was reading this I was thinking of my own answers to those difficult questions. I've said too much, and then I've wished I said more. I want to lie, and pretend she's here, but I want to honor her, too. Then, I started reading the comments for this post and noticed the date. July 1, 2011. The day Mila was born and died. Maybe I was supposed to read this tonight, four months after she came and left too soon.

Time is easing my pain, but I am still weary, especially today. I miss my baby and I am overwhelmed at the thought of moving on.

I appreciate those of you who ask how I'm doing, who are allowing me to be in this painful place, knowing it is not forever. I am honored when you say Mila's name. I say her name often. I breathe it in and then out, like I'm breathing in her life, her spirit, her love and breathing it back out into the world. I like when people ask me what she looked like, or what my pregnancy was like. This is how I remember her and her life. This is how she lives within me now.

I've had some awkward moments lately where I have to share all over again about losing Mila, or I have to answer the question I don't yet have an answer for. How many kids do you have? I try to think of what Mila would want me to say. My answer changes depending on the situation, it always will, I think. Sometimes I can say I have four year old twins and a daughter who died during childbirth. Other times I can say that I have three children. All I can do in each moment is pray for strength and courage to do what feels right and what is in my heart at the time.

I wear a necklace that my sister in law gave me in the hospital that says 'courage'. It was given to her at a difficult time in her life and she passed it on to me. I've worn it every day since I've been home and I like to think it gets me through the tough spots in each day. I thought recently about taking it off, as I hope to get a necklace honoring Mila and her life. Today I put it on again, knowing I would need it. I had to prepare the dentists' office for our visit tomorrow by telling them what happened. I didn't want to explain everything in front of Charlie and Sofie in the middle of their dental appointment. I needed courage today to share what happened. After my phone call I walked outside and felt a cool breeze. Was that Mila? I think it was. Once again, she told me that she knows, and that it's going to be alright.

1 comment:

Rachel said...

I just read your story over at Faces of Loss. I am so sorry that Mila is not with you. I lost my daughter in May at 33 weeks and have found a lot of comfort in writing and blogging. Thank you for sharing your story.