I remember soaking up my two weeks of holidays, almost looking forward to my last 6 weeks of work after the break. Our maternity photo shoot was coming up, and my first OB appointment was right around the corner. We were both healthy - the picture of a perfect pregnancy. My concerns were about getting my cloth diaper collection ready for use, getting my hospital bag packed, and hoping we got a late ultrasound, because we wanted to get a last sneak peek before Haven was born. It was bliss.
The people who think of stillbirth as just a loss of pregnancy are so wrong. I delivered a perfect, healthy baby who came out still. Had she been breathing, we would have left that day with her. She would be a drooly, chubby little fiend pawing at her first Christmas gifts.
This year has been a year of firsts, as it is for all new parents. Except our firsts are of the saddest kind; first one month without her, first Easter, first Mother's Day, first Father's Day, first 6 months, first Thanksgiving, first little friend's first birthday party, and now, first time she has been on the outside as long as she was on the inside. Except that she is outside and in the cold ground under a tomb stone. All of that potential for joy has instead been reminder after reminder of how how much we are missing.
Christmas is not yet here, but we can't read anything on facebook or go anywhere in the city and not be reminded that our daughter died and she is not coming back. This holiday, always my favourite, is like an open wound being jabbed over and over and over.
I wish that I could dig a hole and hibernate until February.