Happy 1st Birthday, baby girl! 

I realize now that I've never told your birth story.  I've relived it so many times in my head, but I've never written it down.  I guess there couldn't be a more perfect day to tell your story than today, huh?

When Daddy and I left the house, it was dark, rainy, and cool-the first cool morning of the fall.  I held hands with your Daddy; we hugged and prayed.  I remember your daddy pleading with God to let us keep you, for miraculous healing so that we could take you home. 

Just born

Daddy holds you for the first time

I can't even begin to explain how hard it was to go to the recovery area without you.  At first, I was by myself there, but then other mommies were wheeled in holding their newborns.  I could hear their squeaky cries and suckling noises as I waited anxiously for Daddy to return from the NICU and update me with your status.  Daddy came back and told me that Egleston had already been contacted, and a bed was open, so you'd probably be leaving today. This meant that I wouldn't be able to be with you until I was discharged on Wednesday.  The doctors told us that this scenario was the best case for your survival. 




Nana meets you

 Granddad, Nana, and your brothers were on their way to the hospital to meet you.  Nana got to meet your when your eyes were open, when you were fresh and new and full of life.  She held your little fingers and felt instant love for you. 

Ely meets you

The photos of you with your brothers right after your birth are some of my favorites.  Ely and Milo were SOOO excited to see you.  The looks on their faces were ones of absolute joy.  It was very hard for them to understand why you were so sick, though, and why they couldn't hold you.   I wish they could have spent more time with you and gotten a chance to hold you, but you were too fragile.  Even still, I am so thankful that your brothers got to meet you right after you were born.  One of my fears was that they wouldn't have the chance to meet you alive.

Daddy went back and forth from the NICU to my room until it was time for you to be transported.  I was so worried that they would take you away without me getting to see you. Gazing at you from flat on my back during the C-section didn't exactly allow me to take in all the details of your tiny face.  After waiting in anticipation for hours, the transport team finally wheeled you into my room in your isolet.  I remember losing my breath for a second when I first saw you, so small and helpless and uncomfortable.  I just wanted to scoop you up in my arms and hold you forever and protect you against all the harm in the world.  It broke my heart saying goodbye to you. 



In your transfer isolet

 Daddy followed you to Egleston and stayed with you for most of the day on Monday, your birthday.  Daddy wasn't allowed to hold you, but he was there with you, holding your hand.  That night, he brought me pictures of you.  I saw that you had been hooked up to a ventilater since you had stopped breathing in the ambulance.  It was so heartbreaking to see you, a tiny little baby, hooked up to so many machines when hours before, you had been breathing on your own, a sweet littleborn who deserved to be held and cuddled and kept warm by her Mommy's skin. 

If I could turn back time, I would have fought harder, baby girl.  I would have fought harder to have given you a better quality of life for the little time we had with you.  I'm sorry you endured so much and suffered so greatly. I wish I could have had you in my arms for the entirety of your short life instead of you having all that medical crap hooked up to you. 

I knew you weren't meant to be here long, little Stella.  I only wish I could have spent your birthday, October 10th, 2010, with you in my arms, just like I wish I could spend your birthday with you today.  In my heart, you'll always be my baby girl, no matter how old I become.  It was indescribable joy to meet you, see you, and touch you, and I was always ache for you on your birthday AND every other day that I am separated from you.  I love you, baby girl, and I miss you more than words will ever express.

Happy Birthday.

Love,
Mommy 

When I was younger and much more naive, it was easy to declare "I would never ________..."  I would fill in the blank with something I considered completely horrific - everything from calling someone a ***** to murder to doing drugs.  Okay, now don't panic.  I'm not doing drugs, unless an occasional Tylenol PM counts, but life's experience has taught me that there is NOTHING I'm not capable of without the grace of God restraining me.

Even though I'm (thankfully) not resorting to substance abuse, I understand better now why people do drugs.  When you've lived with pain, whether it be physical or emotional, for a long season in your life, you naturally want the pain to stop! Even a temporary dull doesn't seem half-bad sometimes, especially when there's no end in sight.

Some days, I'm still living in a fog when it seems surreal that my daughter was conceived in my womb, lived for nine months and five days, and was gone as quickly as she came.  Other days, I'm struck head-on at 60 miles per hour with the reality that an incredibily imporant part of my life, my Stella, is not here.  Today was one of those days. 

The reality of my daughter's absence tends to hit me harder on Sundays than other days when I'm sitting in church trying to reconcile God's goodness and grace with "why did this happen?"  Yes, I know that there are reasons and that God is sovereign.  There is a lot of good that has come from meeting Stella and watching her slip quickly from this life. But, there is no ignoring that there is joy and comfort in the MIDST of this pain, not instead of it.  And there is no ignoring the tears that still flow (uncontrollably at times) as an outpouring of this pain. 

Today I was once again ambushed by the misunderstanding of friends as I was overcome with the sorrow of desperately missing my girl.  I don't know why I have to explain that yes, even after ten months without Stella, there are still moments when my heart is still extremely tender, and how I act has nothing to do with them and everything to do with being blindsided with grief.  After an unsuccessful attempt to reconcile with someone who hurt me while I was hurting deeply, and even trying to apologize for my emotions coming across the wrong way, I feel like shouting, "IT"S NOT ABOUT YOU!"

Why is it hard to understand that hurting people don't behave in a way that makes sense?  I'm a forgiven, but yet still very fallen, child of God, and the very real acquaintence of my pain sometimes causes me to act in a less-than-lovely manner.  Do I wish I could change this?  Yes!!  And I wish I could change the fact that I'm STILL mourning the loss of daughter, but I can't, and yes, I'm going to act crazy sometimes. 

With the exception of a few friends, this grief-stricken craziness makes me feel so very alone.  Like Job, I just want my supposed friends to see that I'm hurting or at least not assume that I'm acting emotional for a stupid reason (like hormones), be there for me with comforting hugs, and not give me any advice.  This must be too much to ask for, and even more ridiculous to ask is that they not take it personally that I'm upset and create more stress and drama for me.  Yes, that's exactly what I need.  More stress and drama while I'm desperately missing my daugther and terrified of giving birth to another baby that I can't bring home with me.

So, I'm sorry.  Sorry that I can't always act the way a normal friend should.  And I'm sorry that I'm not "normal."  I won't be...probably ever.    I feel bad for expressing my pain in a way that made my friends feel awkward, but is it impossible to conceive of the fact that maybe I have a reason for acting that way and overlook it in love and MOVE ON?  Of course it's easier to ignore someone who is upset and get angry at her instead, but real love isn't about what's easy.  Boy, do I know how true that is.

Maybe this is life's way of showing me that friends really can't always be relied upon.  I know that only God can really be my ever present help in trouble, but my heart wrestles with my head to fully take hold of His help.  I just want the pain to be taken away or at least dulled for awhile.  Isn't that what people say when they take drugs?  Oh God, somehow, I need you to be my drug, because I certainly see why people resort to that...