Thursday, December 29, 2011

Post my first Christmas without you

Chiristmas, I've always loved Christmas. It's such a happy time. A time of family, of celebration. We were at home this Christmas and my folks were with us. And. Well. It was good to be with family, and we had fun. But boy, I felt your absence.

There's this huge gaping hole in my heart that cannot be filled. That place that was made only for you. I can't believe sometimes how someone so small, as you were, could have been so LARGE in our lives. It's a strange feeling: feeling so utterly fulfilled, and so grateful and happy with the things that I have and our lives in general (my three healthy, wonderful boys, my gem of a husband, our home, our health etc); and yet feeling so terribly lost, so dreadfully empty, and somehow, sometimes desperately alone.

I remember when my father in law died, my mother in law spoke of how after his funeral, she had to sit in this lonely home watching all the flowers she had been given, whither and die; and how, at that point, the calls stopped coming, the visitors stopped popping over; and yet, her grief hadn't suddenly ended. Perhaps at that point, it's where some of the grief actually begins. I think, because of the nature of our journey, in that we actually grieved you when you were born, I understand this conundrum: that grief begins somewhere where concern ends. I look back now, and I realize how lonely those days were, how hard they were.

Don't get me wrong, this is no pity party. There are many who understand. Other mums who have lost their babies, and, after all the hype of your death had died down, have phoned me, or messaged me to see how I am. They know. And we're so busy, and happy wih the boys, and our lives, that I am so very happyrather than drowning in a pit of despair (I'm one of the "lucky" ones though).

But, well, Christmas hurt alot. And the past few weeks have dug up all the regret, the anger and the disappointment at that which I have lost. That which was taken from me. That which can never be repaired or given back. And sometimes, seeing everyone's joy and happiness is enough to make me want to scream. Sometimes I just want to close myself off from the world. Give up. Roll into a ball and stay there forever. The hurt is too much. I mean, my daughter died for goodness sake! And sometimes I just want somebody to see that, but no one ever does. The curse of being strong? That people tend to forget about you.

I miss you, Mikayla. It's been a little over 3 1/2 months since you passed away. I think that your death will somehow haunt me forever. It all happened so quickly. I know that I got to say everything I wanted to say, and I know that it was ordained to happen as I had prayed it would. And yet, I cant help wondering. In the last month or so, you had changed so much. What would it have been like if you were still with us now? Are you happy in Heaven? Do you miss me the way I miss you?

How do I fill this hole, in my heart, Miks? I dunno. I guess, sometimes, I just wonder why everyone else seems to be rescued, but I don't. *sigh*

Ok, I think that's enough rambling. I seriously sound like a spoilt little brat. I really do have so much to be grateful for. And grateful I am. Sad. Yet happy. Empty. Yet fulfilled. Lonely. Yet busy and full of life.

Life is good. But I will always miss you, my darling daughter. Always. And that place where you belong, will always be empty, like a canyon in my heart.