I didn’t just lose my baby, I lost my dreams for her.
All of those hopes and dreams crushed. Deflated. Like this balloon I got at her birth, and threw in the nursery after her death. I didn’t just lose the baby that I knew for 9 months in my womb and five days in my arms, I lost the child I envisioned growing up. I lost all of the memories I wanted to make. It’s almost like somehow I did make them, and am missing out. I was supposed to have many, many years with her. She was supposed to cry at my grave, years from now, with her own children at her side.
We bought these shoes the day we found out our baby was a girl. She never even got to wear them. Now they’re locked up safe. She’ll never outgrown them. My dream of ohhing and ahhing as I placed them on her tiny baby feet will never come true.
I bought this dolly for her first Christmas, and we made her this stocking. I dreamed of hanging it up each year, and that eventually she’d wake up on Christmas morning searching for her stocking full of gifts I lovingly picked out. Instead, our first Christmas after her birth was spent without her.
I’ve learned to make new dreams for her. In this way, in making these new dreams and memories, I can still mother her. That’s how I can remain standing when all of my dreams have crumbled.
My dream now is for her to save other babies. To save other families from our pain.