Celebrating her

May 22nd.  We've been struggling with the decision of how to mark this day.  We want to remember her, celebrate her, honor her.  Surely, our tradition will evolve over time, but this year, we decided to collect stones and make a small memorial.  For this first anniversary, we built a cairn for our sweet Marin in a beautiful spot overlooking the hills of Connecticut. 

Today

I feel so alone in my grief.  I know that other people feel grief too, but they can't possibly feel the way I do.  Even Kyle feels it differently, in his own way.  And worst of all, noone, not even Kyle, can take it away.

Marin's Tree

I've been waiting so patiently for her tree to bloom, thinking that it would make me feel better.  Finally, the pink blossoms appeared. I suppose it made me feel a tiny bit better.

Tonight

I nursed Fisher to sleep, then held his little solid body, stared at his peaceful face, smelled his baby skin, and kissed his sweet cheeks and neck.  I couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to hold her---how much would she  weigh right now?  What would she look like?  How much hair would she have?  Would it still be as blond as it was when she was born, the tiniest hint of red like Fisher, or darker blond/brown like Hayes?  Would she resemble Fisher or have her very own looks?  What would she smell like?  Would my lips fit perfectly into the crook of her neck to give her sweet kisses?

Her coloring was off...

A year ago, today, my world was turned upside down.  I walked into the NICU as I had for the previous week, ready for morning rounds, holding babies, changing diapers, and all the other duties that make being a parent of a NICU baby (two babies) as normal as possible.  She was different right away, crying this pitiful cry when I changed her diaper and picked her up.  She only quieted after settling into my arms, mewing again every time I shifted her.  I learned quickly not to shift her.  I mentioned to several nurses, nurse practitioners, residents, and doctors that she seemed "off," only to be told that everything was fine because her monitors, her labs, her breathing, and her pee and poo diapers all showed that she was physically well.  Until that afternoon when she wasn't.  A nurse noticed that her coloring was off...

The doctors assure me that it wouldn't have changed the outcome, but I will always wonder if I had insisted on them checking her out sooner, would we have caught it in time to have made a difference?

Goodnight

He thinks I don't see him... he walks to each of the rooms, kisses his hand, and touches the closed doors, wishing our sweet boys a peaceful goodnight. 

I do see him on occasion... on those nights when I'm dragging up the stairs behind him.  But I don't see him place a kiss on her door.  It will never be a part of his nightly ritual.