Two Years Tomorrow

In about an hour, it will have been two years since I saw my daughter alive for the last time. I put her to bed and a little while later, she asked for some water. She was so calm, so peaceful, not running around, playing in her room or making noise as she usually did. At about 4 AM, I heard her voice. I wasn't sure whether she had just woken up (and my husband was on his way to her) or whether he'd already been there and she was chattering herself to sleep. It was 6 weeks after my c-section, 6 weeks of waking up with a new baby. The next time I saw her, I knew her beautiful little soul had left us.

I can't remember what I was doing last year on May 20. I know that on May 21, I woke up, exercised, and worked. In the evening, some friends of ours came over and kept us company as the day ran out. Tonight I'm here with just my daughter for a few hours, until my husband comes home. I can't help thinking about everything that started on that night two years ago. One life ended. In two months, I will meet the new person growing in my belly. I left the house I thought I'd spend a few more years in. I suddenly became a mommy of one again (to all those who see me), though in my mind and heart I am always a mommy of two.

Most of the time, I don't think about her death. I consciously avoid that part of my mind and heart. I do remember the funny, cute, exciting, and other things she did. I suppose after two years I've managed to separate the two somehow.

Will May always be such a hard month? Mother's Day is always in May. My husband made me chocolate waffles this year, a rare treat. The following weekend, he took me out for what turned out to be a surprise birthday party at a restaurant with all of my friends. I had no idea that he'd planned it, and it's so unlike him to plan anything. Everyone was there, and it completely lifted my mood. When I asked him why he did it, he immediately said that it was because he knew it'd be a tough year.

Last year, I dragged myself, chin up, through absolutely everything because I knew if I let my head hang for even a minute I might not be able to pick it up again. Next year, things might be a bit easier. My husband will be out of school and hopefully working, I'll be busy taking care of a ten-month old, and another year will have passed.

This year, today, I am 38 years old, almost 32 weeks pregnant, and it's been two years since I saw my firstborn. I miss her. I'm angry. I don't think that will ever change.

The Butterfly Effect

That Month is upon me. The month that feels like a downhill slide towards The Day. It starts out with Mother's Day (which I thankfully already made it through), my birthday (this weekend), and the anniversary of my daughter's death (following weekend). Like last year, I'm relatively certain nothing will happen on the same date this year. If nothing else, it just reminds me of the horrible thing that happened two years ago.

And once again, no mention of it (yet?) by either my parents or my husband's. Small side note here--I have had just enough of my controlling father who just doesn't listen to me (or anyone else) and hasn't been supportive through all of this. So for now, we're not speaking. And I'm good with that.

Last year, I got more and more tense until the date arrived, but the actual day wasn't that bad. This year, I had a couple of tough weeks towards the end of April but am feeling a bit better now. The flashbacks seem to have started up again, and I find myself re-experiencing the day she died.

I'm now 30 weeks pregnant, and with my husband putting in long hours at school, I'm alone a lot with my daughter. This seems to have resulted in two things. First, at just over 2 years of ago, she seems unusually tuned in to my emotions. We'll be in the car, me driving, her in the carseat in the back. I'll get sad, sometimes won't even be crying or anything, and she'll start to yell "Mama! Mama!" until I respond.

The other thing is, I find myself wondering how life would be different if my daughter hadn't died. I've thought about this often over time, but had kind of stopped for a while. Something about the anniversary has brought it back. And I don't just think about her life, or our family's, I think about how her death may have changed the lives of everyone I know. Would my friend's house have caught fire last year, if the year before she hadn't been at my house making sure I ate the day after my daughter died? Would my other friend have lost her house if she hadn't been there taking care of the baby when I went to the hospital to say goodbye to my daughter?

There are no obvious connections, obviously. It's more of a butterfly effect--the tiny things that happen somewhere, to someone, that somehow affect us, change the courses of our lives in ways we can never imagine. I can think of a million big things that would be different--we'd still live in our old house, my husband might already be done with school, I might not be pregnant now. I wonder about some of the others--would my younger daughter be talking more? Would she be easier to potty train since she'd see her sister doing it?

Oddly enough, I can tell you I probably would still be talking to my dad right now if my daughter had survived. Losing her was so...life-changing. It's the straw that broke the camel's back. Initially I was timid, afraid to leave my house or be around anyone other than the few people who helped us at the time. As time goes on, I become less willing to put up with anyone who won't listen to me, ridiculous demands, or anything that's basically a giant drag. I do think I've managed to avoid becoming completely obnoxious. In fact, I think I may have become even better at being tactful when necessary and direct if the situation demands it.

The butterfly effect. What will happen to change my life today?