Another Milestone

Tomorrow my girl will be one day older than her sister. Every day she lives after that is an age that her sister never got to be.

I've had this date on my mind for quite a while, but I didn't realize the nasty feeling it would create in the pit of my stomach. Anticipation again, wreaking havoc on my body.

I think about my daughter and realize once again that she saved me. I was lucky in some ways that I had a baby who needed me. I didn't wake up the day after my daughter died wondering whether I was still a mother, as I've heard some women do when they lose their only child. I didn't have an older child to explain things to, or console.

My baby girl literally gave me a reason to get out of bed day after day in those early weeks and months after her sister died. I've breastfed all three of my children, and while the oldest and youngest both took/take bottles, the middle one never did. She would rather not eat than take a bottle. And while I'm sure she wouldn't have starved herself if I'd been unable to nurse her, knowing how stubborn she was made me decide to try to keep nursing her. It gave me a reason to eat.

Also unlike my other two, my middle child slept 8 hours in a row consistently from about 8 weeks old until this very day. Today I sit here, sleepy, mildly confused, having woken up at midnight and 4 AM with my baby boy. And I realize that I probably would have broken down if I'd gotten this little sleep after losing my daughter. Somehow, her little sister was different in a way I needed her to be.

My daughter has also been unlucky, with a weight on her shoulders she probably doesn't even know exists. She had to get me through that time so I'd be here for her for years to come. I sometimes hovered over her, sometimes handed her off to friends for hours on end, compared her to her sister, and probably denied her some time and attention she would have gotten, had I been more mentally and emotionally stable in her first few months or life. My husband says she is very attached to me, sensitive to my moods. I tend to agree with him though I hate to think of that burden on my 2-year old.

Tomorrow will be a relief--she made it past that age. Not that I'm done worrying--just knowing what losing a child feels like has made me more sensitive to possible dangers, probably more so than most parents. But I'm not worried in the same way for my son. It's as if I feel he's safe because he wasn't around when his sister died. It's sad too, because she never saw him, and I honestly don't know if she knows he exists.

Think of me tomorrow, and my now-big girl, older than her sister forever onwards.

One Day at a Time

My baby boy is 12 weeks old today. That means my maternity leave has come to an end and tomorrow I return to work. I can't believe how quickly the time has passed. It's such a contrast to the two years before, when I couldn't believe I'd gone one day, one week, a month, and then 2 years without my daughter. I kept looking back at yesterday, the big yesterday I wished I could live over again. I feared tomorrow, the months and years without her. The phrase "one day at a time" has taken on new meaning for me in the past few weeks.

Soon after my daughter died, I found myself reliving that day over and over again, the parts I'd actually experienced, and the parts (events leading up to her death) that I never saw and have no confirmation of. I felt as though I could either make it more real or unreal if I played the film in my head enough times. Then the day came where I tried to stop the movie from playing. The deep shock passed, and when I remembered anything, I had horrible flashbacks that left me sobbing, screaming, scared, and then exhausted. The only way I could make them stop was to focus on the immediate present--I would recite facts such as the date, my name, address, and run my fingers along the fabric of my pants or chair to have a physical sensation to focus on.

This lurching back and forth from dwelling in the past and worrying about the future had the odd effect of making the present go by without my ever really experiencing it. There are events, feelings, so many things that I can't remember. I'm sure the shock made it so I couldn't fully feel, but even things that I thought I was present for are tough to recall.

A few weeks ago, I found myself back in that week, remembering something about my daughter's memorial service. Rather than letting myself think about it, I forcefully dragged myself back to the present. I didn't want to remember, to be taken back to that period. I realize in some way I have compartmentalized my memories of my daughter. The good memories are allowed to come up and relived as fully as possible, while the bad ones (mostly her actual death and the week after) I make a conscious effort to avoid.

I don't think this is unhealthy--I don't try to pretend she's still alive, I don't live in the past, and if I feel sad, then I go ahead and cry. But I'm not dwelling in that past anymore. I also find that I'm not looking at the future as often either. I'm not worrying about what will happen on the day my children realize what happened to their big sister. I don't try to figure out how I'll get through the rest of this life without her.

A friend told me recently that I sound better now than I have in the past two years. My only explanation for this is my son. I told her my baby girl saved me--she forced me to fight--and my baby boy has brought me peace. Maybe I've stopped running--running away from the past and the future--and am finally sitting right here on today.

I've posted this before, but it bears repeating. Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow is a nice little verse that I think most people can relate to. Thinking only about today may be the sanest way to live (why worry about things we can't change or even imagine?) but it certainly doesn't come easy. My dreaded tomorrow right now involves going back to work. I just don't want to. I'm not saying I don't want to work, I just don't feel like going back to the same job I've had for nearly 8 years. But that's literally only tomorrow I'm thinking of, not next week, month, or year. I've come a long way in controlling my future-tripping tendencies. It is definitely something that requires effort.

The milestones I was afraid of, most of them have now passed and I haven't worried about any of them in a while. The two that remain are the day my daughter moves out of her crib and into her bed (actually, her big sister's former bed) and September 28, the day my baby girl will finally be older than her big sister ever was. Just reading that sentence makes my stomach turn over.

So tomorrow, I will be back at work, doing my best to stay in the present, and live just one day at a time.