4 months

So. Today is 4 months since Isla was born and passed away. It still feels weird to write that.. passed away.. my baby.. yes, very weird. Very wrong. Most days I'm still mostly melancholy, thinking heavily about her, wishing so hard that I could just wake up from it all, and have her here with us. There are babies everywhere, and somehow, due to an environmental glitch I'm sure, everybody is having girls. I can't believe how I never see baby boys. And I do look, it's not like I'm just seeing the pink everywhere. It really is pink everywhere. And it's hard as hell. I want to walk up to these moms and tell them that I had a baby too, and I should be pushing a stroller with a carseat in it, and pink billowing out everywhere. I created a beautiful daughter too, even though she's not here.
I often feel like my body let me down. Not all the time, but it does cross my mind... that even though I could make this baby, I couldn't deliver her, bring her into the world safely. I wrack my brain for reasons this happened. I sometimes wish we'd had an autopsy to find out the real cause. But part of me was scared that we'd find out it was somehow my fault. This way, with a cord accident, we knew it wasn't.
Sometimes I think I'm doing so well on this grief journey, progressing appropriately through the stages and healing on schedule. Then I fall back into it full force, and spend a few days wallowing in it, feeling gutted all over again. I think in some ways, I'm grateful for these forays back into the black, because they remind me that I am still missing my daughter so much. I sometimes feel like I'm doing too well (I don't read back in my blog, but I'm sure I've mentioned this a time or two already) and not grieving, or making Isla's life meaningful. It makes me feel connected to her to grieve her, as I move on in my life. Because while she is forever a newborn to me, I will continue to evolve as a person. I need, as much as it hurts, to keep her alive to me, to keep her near my heart as I move further away from her birth. It saddens me that my memories are fading. I mean, some, I'm grateful for the encroaching fogginess, like the moment I asked if my baby was going to die, and no one said no. I'll gladly forget that one anytime. But, others, like remembering how she felt in my arms, her warmth, her little hiccup breathing sound, her sweet hair, her precious fingers and toes... all of her... is fading too, and I have nothing but her photos to remember her by now. I still sleep with the blanket she was wrapped in at the hospital, and who knows how long I'll do that. I just know that for now, I need to. Though the memories are fading and the intense grief has somewhat eased, I still miss my daughter so damn much it hurts. I think this will always be the case for me. And that is something I have a great deal of anger over. I don't want to be missing my dead baby for the rest of my life. I should be out pushing her in the swing, putting barrettes into her wavy soft hair, planting flowers with her. Not missing her, living my life while she is denied hers. It's an awful reality that I have to endure forever, and all the work I do to "keep her memory alive" is really in vain. It will not bring her back, and that's all I really want. I miss you sweetheart. I love you so much and we all wish you were here with us. You can't imagine how much you've impacted us, and just how very sad we are without you.
My heart hurts every second for you and I wish you were here in my arms. I love you. mommy.
Triggers are abundant, though I usually avoid them as best I can.