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.
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.
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