What scares me most...

That phrase is a little misleading, I suppose. One thing that I have felt strongly since losing Kylie is my way with the written word has improved. It is easy for me to type freely, letting the words flow from my mind through my fingers to the keyboard. Sure, there are flaws. What doesn't have flaws? But I think what has improved my writing is the reality behind it, the feeling, the raw emotions. The words I speak, sadly, are heartwrenching yet true.

What scares me most... like I said, misleading. What scares me most, well, has already happened. Now, it is the life I live in response to what happened. Really, every day scares me, just to end with me being scared of the next... and so on.

I am afraid of the day when it is no longer okay to use Kylie's picture as my profile picture on facebook. I know, how ridiculous that sounds. But it's true- life continues on. It's not like I will have new pictures of Kylie to share all the time, like other mommies. It's not like you will see a change in her. Forever, the images I have of her will sadly, painfully stay the same. There will be no aging, there will be no changing.

Change. Terrifying to think of. As I sit here, contemplating on where this blog is going, terror has shocked me more than once since the pang hit me to write tonight. When the feeling hits, you must succomb. And I must say, I am unsure why I feel the need to write here instead of on my March of Dimes blog. I haven't even looked at it in a week. I guess it's no matter. In the months before I went back to work, I lived on that blog. Hours per day, I would search, write, share. I would find peace and comfort in others who shared my misery, and I would find solace with those who did not know or understand, but felt for me and my loss. It was almost an obsession, and yet, as quickly as I became obsessed, I dropped it. There is no reason. I love my friends there. I guess... well, I have become occupied. I have the walk to take my time, and I have found more time for books and less time for the computer.

Change. Terrifying to think of. Yet, I am not the same as I was before this happened. No one plans to bury a child. We plan a future--even though she wasn't born, I had envisioned her life--as a child, a teenager, a wife, a mother... and desperately hoped that I would be alive to see her become a strong, independent woman. I prayed to God that he would give her my desire to learn, my will to try hard at all that I do. I hoped she would get her daddy's strength, and his knack for making people laugh. I hoped that she would love deeply and strongly, and I hoped that she would have a heart of gold. I envisioned, more often than not, her walking down the aisle in a white wedding dress with Chris at her side, his hair gray, but still as strikingly handsome as ever, as our daughter, more beautiful than any bride I ahve ever seen, prepared to start her own life with someone made for her. This thought bothers me more than anything else. Sure, I wanted her to graduate from high school and college (Auburn of course- nothing but the best for my little girl). It made growing old seem worthwhile, full of purpose, and it was not scary to grow old thinking of her to fill our hearts and lives. Yet, those plans no longer get to unfold, though I still picture them often. It is hard for parents to bury a child. Not only do I mourn HER, the loss of her. I mourn her future, my future, OUR future. I mourn the life she didn't get to live, the life that I lost when i lost her. No, it's not selfish thinking. Don't misinterpret. Even now, Kylie comes first.

I think I lost my passion for reading when she died because I never got to share that with her. I hoped that she would share that passion with me, and we could read our favorites together every day, over and over. I always pictured me reading her bedtime stories at night. I always, always, pictured it. The first book I read to her was "On the Night you were born." I read this to her on what would have been her two month birthday at her grave, sobbing the entire time. There is so much I wanted to do with her, say to her... teach her. Now, I won't get the opportunity.

It scares me to death that I have to live my life in a new "normal" without my daughter. I guess that's normal, but it feels so abnormal. Profound, I know.