I am so tired but I can’t sleep. I’ve had this issue all week. This is the first time in my life that I’ve had any problem sleeping, and I don’t like it.
I cried for Kathryn tonight. I haven’t cried about her in a long time, but tonight, as I lay my head on my pillow, I just missed her. Tiny will be 8 months old in four days, and no matter how hard I try to convince myself that all is well and maybe it’s better this way, I miss her.
Would she giggle in the funny, back of her throat way that Tiny does? Would her face light up every time she saw me, like Tiny’s? Would she have eaten a mushed up banana tonight, like her identical twin sister, or would she prefer the sweet potatoes?
Some days I feel so normal. Not right now.
I don’t write about this to garner sympathy or empathy. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me or to wonder if I’m ok. I do it because right now in this moment, writing my feelings is the only way I know how to survive. And perhaps if I tell the world how much I would give anything to hold my baby girl again, maybe I’ll be able to sleep. Maybe.
My sister shared with me about an older woman who works with her ministry. My sisters group recently sponsored a retreat and as they were sharing stories, the woman told some of the girls about the baby she lost fifty years ago. Fifty years ago and she still cried as she told the story. She later told my sister that she doesn’t always cry, but every once in awhile it still chokes her up. So, my sister then understood how long it will be with me.
The truth is, I’ll never be fully ok again. There will always be some part of me that always feels empty. I’ll always look at Tiny and wonder how her twin would react in the same situation. I will always wish… always.
Missing you KMB.
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