Losing you

(Original post on facebook)

Walking around the corner, still rubbing the cold Avagaurd into my hands, my heart nearly stops. I'm nowhere near your bed, but something is not right... the moment sticks in my throat, difficult to comprehend, yet knowing all the same. Words flash through my mind, memories play in fast forward, and hopes, those hopes precariously stacked in my mind for you and your future, teeter and crumble. I knew, though I didn't want to know. I felt, though I didn't want to feel. And yet, I was stronger than I anticipated. The words came, though I had no clue what to say. I instructed, and people listened. I asked, and I was answered. Even now, I can see the monitors, I can see you, I can hear the noises of the NICU, much louder than any moment prior... and yet, I felt like I was in a bubble, and a surreal moment was happening with me watching myself... yes, quite like an out of body experience. And your Daddy came, and I told him over and over... it is time, we have to let you go... and I am shocked that I can say that so plainly, yet my mind is screaming- not now... no not my daughter... no not ever. Those screams, the agony... it is all there, but the dam refuses to burst. I feel like I will drown in my own pain before it can surface, and then I realize that I must hold you. I must let you feel me before your heart stops. I must know that, even if it was brief, you felt my arms around you and I bonded with you like a mother should.

And then, I failed. I failed to be what I thought I would. I thought I would scream at the doctors and nurses, at their inability to save you, at MY inability to save you. I thought I would be so loud, they would ask me to leave... but the sobs came quietly but fervently. Your tiny little life left us moments after you were put in our arms, I know, but I couldn't say anything about that. I apologized to you, because a huge part of me felt it was my fault, that I should have done more.. I apologized for making you suffer, for making you when I couldn't save you. That's what moms are supposed to do. Those moments still seem so fresh, so raw, so real.. Your little body was, though swollen, so tiny in my arms, yet you fit perfectly, just like I always thought you would. For a moment, I regained hope, that maybe my arms would bring you back. That I would hold you like that every day, and you would be okay, that the power of my overwhelming love for you would save us both. And then I gave you to your daddy, and I realized that even my intense passion for your little life would never be enough to get you back... and I became numb. Numb, watching your daddy hold you in his big arms, because I always thought that he would look exactly that way holding you... you would be swallowed in his arms, but that was what was supposed to happen. You were supposed to be tiny, but enveloped with daddy's arms and love. I never could look at his face, because the pain was in his every breath. The pain was so evident... the ache that choked us both, the love for you that kept us both from screaming out, yet the pain in losing you that kept us from talking. And then you were back in my arms... and I rocked you... and it surprised me that rocking you felt so natural, even though you had already gone. It must be a motherly instinct--that urge to rock and soothe... and just like I'd done it all my life, I began wiping the dry skin from your face, looking for lint in your hair, and rubbing your nose that is the mirror of my own. I look at those wrinkled creases in your forehead and see your daddy there in that feature, and desperately, I try to fix your ear that has been folded against your head. It is strange how motherly I became, though I had not held you before this moment. The NICU stopped existing, and even your daddy, your Grammy, and your Grandma disappeared in my mind. It was just me and you... and it was beautiful, though so desperately sad. It was a beautiful moment because for that short time, I was your mommy, and you were my daughter, and I could do those things I had been so anxious to do since you were conceived. Strangely, I thought of your daddy not getting to give you a bath, thought of me never clipping your finger nails. I thought of me never getting to dress you, and never putting a bow in your hair. And yet, we rocked, you and I. We rocked, and we rocked... and my eyes never left your face... and I kissed your nose, and it was the most beautiful, heart-wrenching moment of my life. A brief moment before you were put in my arms, a fear rose in me: what would it be like to kiss and hold my baby who has died? and then the fear was gone the minute you fit in the crook of my arm. It would never be weird, or odd, or strange. Alive or not, you were my daughter, and nothing about holding you or kissing you or talking to you was strange... and so, I talked to you like you were with me. I introduced you to your Grammy and your Gramps. I told you how beautiful you were, and how much I loved you. When you were in my arms, nothing else existed but you.

I knew I had to give you back, so your family could meet you, and yet, it was still so unreal... i was walking in a fog... and yet I still hoped... we could change the odds, right? We coudl bring you back... but my heart was so heavy already, and my eyes were so red from my tears that I had no clue I was crying. My arms, already heavy... they knew. My whole body had known for a few days when my milk started running low, when my dreams were consummed with tears and heart-break... when my heart was in my throat the entire time I was with you. It is strange how the connection exists between mother and child, because I "knew" before I knew that you would be leaving me. I wouldn't have admitted it then, but I know now. My number one sign, that choked me up to ask the lactation consultant was why my milk was so little at a time... i was doing everything right. It was just preparing me for not having to pump anymore, I know. I know that now. I knew it then, but to speak it would be to admit the unthinkable.

When Miss Carolyn brought you to us, I looked around at all of the faces in the room briefly. I was aware more of my own family and friends... but most aware of my mom. Angel, your Grammy fought harder for you than anyone could have imagined. She fought, and she fought, and she fought to save you, to protect you, to save me and protect me. She asked questions, she begged for help, she did everything she could think of. The moment I saw you in her arms, I felt I would do anything to take that pain away from her, though I couldn't even take it away from myself. If you only knew how much she loved you, and still does... you are the luckiest girl in the world to have such a wonderful grandmother. I could not begin to tell you how spoiled you would be. And then... oh, sweet baby, you were in your Grampy's arms. I have very rarely seen my daddy cry, but in that moment, I couldn't bear to look in his eyes. I finally realized that day something about parenting: as a parent, you want to fix your child(ren)'s problems, but there are some problems that cannot be fixed. The pain in mom and dad's faces told me that story- they were in agony, not just because they lost their first granddaughter, but because they could not fix the pain I was in or would continue to have. And then, Kylie, you met your Aunt Ashley, who prayed as much for me to conceive you as I did. We had big plans, she and I, that you and Nick would be so close as cousins, and you would do everything together. Her pain, much like my parents, had two parts to it, and as she held you, I could see that she loved you more than any aunt has ever loved their niece before. Uncle Jon was able to hold you next, and though he spent so little time with you, he loved you dearly. He hurt for you, and he wanted to fix it as much as everyone else. And then, you meet your Aunt Jessica... her hurt was for you and for me, and she had so many plans for you as well. You would have been our shadow, our shopping buddy, our little princess. And Uncle Chris saw in you such beauty, and he smiled as he looked in your tiny face--because he knew that your soul was already in such peace in the arms of Jesus.

And all this time, I thought of your sister, the sister who, though not blood related, loved you before you were born. The sister who anticipated meeting you just like everyone else. The sister who kissed my belly and talked to you on Saturday mornings as we cuddled in bed. The sister who even now talks to your pictures, kisses them. I thought so desperately that i wanted her to meet you, and even now, I regret that she didn't. I have no pictures of you two together, nothing to show her when she gets older of her being a good big sister. I have nothing to add to my memories, and that saddens me that I don't have you and her together.

I also remember my anxiety as you were passed around the room, I wanted to follow you, to keep my hands under you, because i was terrified you would be dropped...

And my little miracle baby, when you were back in my arms, you were still perfect. I didn't see the curl in your lip from the tight vent tube. I didn't see the flattened ear, the gauze covering where your IV was... I saw your daddy and me intertwined into the perfect mixture that was you, Kylie Brielle Keith, the most perfect little package I have ever had the joy of being given. I know you may tire of hearing this, but I will always believe it and say it. I ran my fingers over yours, your tiny little fingers, all ten of them... and imagined painting them. I slid mine over your tiny little toes, and imagined playing "this little piggy" with you. I imagined holding a bottle to your mouth, imagined your fine, wavy hair as you were a toddler, turned into long blonde hair that hung in ringlets. I imagined those blue eyes sparkling with wonderment as you took your first steps. And then I remembered those were things that wouldn't happen. My heart seemed to break every moment thinking of the new thing I would never do with you, or watch you do yourself.

The day I lost you, I lost everything. I lost the future I had envisioned. I lost the purposes for my life, the reasons I had for living. I have become an altered version of myself, but things will never be the same. I cannot go back to that person who was Kylie's Mommy on earth--I am now Kylie's Mommy from earth.

I don't want you think I am complaining that I went through it with you. I am complaining that YOU had to go through it at all. These past few days, those last hours with you have replayed and replayed in my mind, and it is important that I remember them this way... though I wish desperately we never had to go through them at all. Your 6 month birthday would be in a few days... and it is so hard for me. That is half a year since you changed my life with your birth.

God, I wish things were different.