Day 6

I've always been a dates person... anniversaries (both in my life and others lives) stay in my mind without much effort and I remember them.

Until 2010, August 4th was the day I remembered as when I got my first driver's license in 1995. Seems silly, but I remembered that every year when it rolled around.

Obviously that anniversary ranks low in importance these days since I got Rachel's diagnosis.

I can tell you that August 4th 1995 was a Friday.  And August 4th 2010 was a Wednesday.  Why?  It's just how my mind works.  I'm a details person.

Yesterday I was looking at the infant photos I have of Asa - He was 5 days old on that Sunday.  Ezra was 5 days old yesterday.  They look so  much alike.  Time seems to be flying by and before I know what happened, he won't look like a newborn anymore.  This time is so sacred.

I was sitting on the couch with him last night and staring at his perfect little head and face.  I started thinking about Rachel and began picturing where her face ended as I stared through his... her long curl of hair on her forehead....how small it made her appear to be missing such a prominent part of a baby's body.... and how much they actually look alike, from the eyebrows down. 

And no matter how many times I tried to stop myself, I just couldn't.... my mind went there....  the inside.  Her brain stem.  How I hate that I know what one looks like.  Wondering what the part she was missing looks like inside of Ez's head.  Hating anencephaly. How hard this has all been. And I just cried.  Hard. 

When Matt came down from putting the kids to bed, he asked what was wrong and all I could say through my sobs was "I was looking at his head......" and he responded "It's pretty cute, huh?"  and I could find no other words except "I can't believe she didn't have her head."

And I can't.  I can't believe it. 

I went to bed with huge puffy eyes and covered with Rachel's blanket, prepared for a night of nursing and changing diapers.  I woke up this morning feeling tired and the first thought on my mind was that Ezra is 6 days old today.... and it hit me....

She would have been 6 days old on a Thursday too.  And on that Thursday... December 9, 2010... 6 days after she was born, I buried her.

I didn't sleep that Wednesday night in December either.  I was up all night working on a slide show and a letter I wrote her to read at her funeral.  I finally went to sleep that morning, her scent still fresh on her blanket as I clenched it tight to my heart, around 3am.  I woke up puffy faced and tired.  No baby to nurse.  No baby to change.  No baby to love on.

I left the house that morning and stood between a beautiful tiny casket that held a piece of my heart and a room full of people and I did everything I could to share who she was to us, how much we loved her, and how good God is.....  And then I had to leave her in the ground.  That afternoon, I returned home knowing I'd never see her again this side of heaven and while the rest of the world felt like the hard part was now over and I should start getting better, I knew the hard part had just begun. 

Something changed that day.  I changed.  My heart changed.  My life changed.  The people around me changed.  Well, I guess everything changed that day. 

Today, 6 days after Ezra's birth, we went to the park and the library.  I wish I could say that those things were simple, but they aren't.  Because in my heart, I cannot avoid the truth - and the truth is that she is still gone and that is always on my mind.  While I do all my 'normal' life stuff, there isn't much more than a few minutes at a time that will go by without her entering my mind.  Just like all my other kids.  She is one of them, no matter where she is. 

No matter how much time passes - and I cannot believe that it has really been 3 years.... or how many other children I have - and I cannot believe that I've really had 2 more babies since her... August 4th will always hurt.  It will forever remain the day that I heard the worst news I have had to hear in my life - and the day that began the hardest journey I would ever have to face.  And this year I have no race to distract me from the reality that there was nothing I could do to change it.   

All I could do was walk it, clinging onto God and letting Him work through me because I couldn't allow the pain to get in the way of His eternal purposes for my little girl's life.  I couldn't let her just die and be gone.  I couldn't let it all just be sad.  But I'd be lying if I said that I didn't have to dig down deeper than I even knew I could go in order to keep going.... or that some days I still do. 

I could use extra prayer if you think of me this weekend.  My heart is heavy as Sunday approaches.