Silent All These Years

Years go by, will I still be waiting for somebody else to understand

Years go by, if I'm stripped of my beauty and the orange clouds raining in my head

Years go by, will I choke on my tears 'til, finally there is nothing left

One more casualty, you know we're too easy, easy, easy

Silent all these years. 

I've been here silent all these years

Silent all these, silent all these years

~Tori Amos

For some reason, this song has been in my head all day. I used to listen to it over and over in high school. I would blare the tape in my car while smoking clove cigarettes and thinking I knew all there was to know about life.

Why did this song resonate with me? I am not one to be silent. I wasn't then, and I am not now.

On this night, eight years ago, we went to our last Labor & Delivery Class. Gary did not want to wear the pregnancy belly. I did not want to watch the video of a real birth. All I wanted was to ask the nurse who was teaching the class why I did not feel my daughter kick anymore.

On this night, eight years ago, we stopped for milkshakes on the way home. The sugar was supposed to make my baby kick.

On this night, eight years ago, our company was closed for Good Friday the next day, so it was worth it to call the doctor and then go to the hospital for reassurance because we didn't have to work in the morning, so it did not matter if we were tired.

On this night, eight years ago, I lost my innocence and naivete.

On this night, eight years ago, my baby died.

She may have died earlier in the day. She may have died the day before. There was no way to know. She was alive on Tuesday at our 37-week appointment. She was not alive by the time they did an ultrasound on this night, eight years ago.

I miss my first daughter. I wonder what she would look like today and what she would like to do. I wonder what her favorite color would be and if she would look like me.

On this night, eight years ago, I vowed to not be silent. My daughter would be remembered. And she is.

Happy almost birthday, sweet Allie. We love you more.

Guess who's back, back again?

Ok, so not Shady. Me!

I have wanted to write, I really have. It's so cathartic for me, but I have run into a problem that I was just able to talk out yesterday. Without the ability to do that, I got stuck.

Here's my dilemma - I do not want my living child to grow up in the shadow of my dead one.

Heavy stuff, right? Especially for a Monday!

So here's the thing. Miranda would not exist if not for Allie. Had Allie not been conceived, loved, cared for and adored for 37 weeks and 1 day, and then died, she may have lived. And had she lived, would we have wanted another child? Would we have had fertility issues and then decided on adoption and then gotten all our classes and paperwork done in time for M to get pregnant, decided she wanted to place her baby for adoption and then choose Gary and me to be her parents? Probably not.

Miranda does not exist with Allie. But Allie existed for two years without Miranda.

How do I talk about one child without the other?

I don't. And there's nothing wrong with that. Parents tend to talk about all their kids. 

I feel like I am cheating Allie by talking about Miranda more. But Miranda is here and needs me. Allie is not.

My first born would be eight years old in a few weeks. That's a full-fledged reader. That's no booster seat in the car. That's a whole lot of things that are unfamiliar to me. If she were alive and I was parenting her, I would know eight better. But she's not, and I don't.

Back to Miranda being in Allie's shadow. Every butterfly, every sun flare, every extra twinkle of a star, we think of Allie. We say it aloud, and we get happy and then sad. Miranda has lived with that her whole life. Is that fair to her? Does she get jealous of a child only lives in our hearts?

Of the hundreds of photos that we took in Disney last month, this one is one of my favorites. I took it with my phone - it's not one of the professional ones. But it shows Gary with both our girls. And I adore it.

Is that fair?

Is life fair?

What is fair?

The thing is, I have a good life. I have a family that I love and that loves me in return. I have the best friends a girl could want or need. I have a job that I am passionate about and that gives me so much more than a paycheck. That should be enough.

And it is. 

I just worry that I am cheating Miranda out of a blissful childhood with a somewhat realistic one.

Maybe all of "this" will just prepare her to be a better youth and then teen and then young adult.

I sure hope so.

Maybe one day she will realize she is as lucky as me.

I definitely hope so.