This blog started out as a place for me to get all of the complicated emotions surrounding losing our first child out in writing. An ode to our daughter, to Amy, and to us as a family. And then it was a place to record the fears and ups and downs of the subsequent pregnancy after a loss. To post the terrible things that go through your head but can’t say out loud. And then we had a little boy, a wonderful, living son. And so this blog sits in such a weird space in my life right now; so many posts I’ve almost made and then decided not to.
Because I can think of no better phrase that captures my life right now than “my cup runneth over.” Way over. Like a karmic bounceback from losing your daughter, in the span of six months, we’ve had a living child, enjoyed several successes professionally and financially, and most recently were able to purchase and move into an amazing new home, a dream-home kind of home. The people we love are all happy and healthy and so are we, and frankly that’s luckier than a lot of people get. So it feels kind of … petty, almost, to write about being sad that Amy’s not here to share it with us, when I am happy and we are happy and so very blessed. Except for the daughter we’ll never get to raise, we are living a pretty charmed life. I don’t want you to think I don’t know that – especially since Amy, I feel our blessings acutely, every day. Even the small ones. And these aren’t small ones.
But some days, it’s hard to escape the knowledge that without Amy, there would also be no Levi. Either because he wouldn’t have existed or because we wouldn’t have known about my incompetent cervix and we would have lost him, too. To have a second, we would have always had to lose the first. If we’d been told that up front, would we have done it? Who can know, and of course that’s not possible anyway, but it’s still the truth. Without her, he wouldn’t be.
And so sometimes, even though I am happy, even though my life is lovely, even though we are so blessed – sometimes I am still sad, because our daughter is still dead. And sometimes people tell me that I need to just get over it, that I need to let it go, and maybe they’re right, but I’m not sure that’s possible. I see a glimmer of what we’ve lost in every little girl I see. For a long time, I thought this was because I didn’t yet have a living daughter, and maybe if we do one day, maybe then I won’t see Amy in a strange little girl’s skipping down the street, maybe then I won’t be jealous of every little baby girl born to my loved ones, and then finally I realized that’s not true – I could have ten more children, I could have ten more daughters, and Amy will still be lost, and I will still be jealous of those who have no lost daughters, and I will still see her, from time to time, in every other little girl, even my own.