Wednesday, May 18, 2011

I plan too much

I can't help it.  I just do.  If there's a trip coming up, I start researching places to eat, things to see and do.  We go out to dinner, I've already planned out what to wear (depending on the weather) and will have already checked out the menu online.  Upcoming birthdays, the gifts are sitting on the table ready to be wrapped.  Christmas?  I'm usually done shopping by October.

This is what I do.

While pregnant, is it a surprise that I thought of everything?  When the Harry Potter movie comes out in July, I will need a baby sitter.  If the fire alarm goes off in our building, I will need to take Dylan outside and possibly will need to calm her down.  When I shower and my hubby is not home, where can I put her so that I can still check on her or go to her within seconds if I need to?  I was ready.

All these things I over planned for... useless, because my daughter is gone.  Now, thanks to my own crazy brain thinking overtime, everything - and I mean EVERYTHING - makes me think of Dylan.  The Harry Potter commercials, the fire alarms, just plain showering.  I can't walk through the house without thinking about her.  Where her bassinet would have been.  Where she would have played.  The empty spot where we had stored her stroller.

Her things are now in storage... maybe one day she will have a little brother or sister who will use them.  For now, they are carefully wrapped and put away.


I'm trying to move on in my life without my baby, but it's so damn hard when it's not only the physical things that trigger reminders, but just every day life that I mentally prepared for that eat into me.

What's in my broken heart

Glee is one of my favorite shows.  In the latest episode, the sister of Sue Sylvester (one of the characters) had passed away and they had a funeral for her.  During the funeral, Sue tried to give this speech.  It was the hardest 5 minutes of TV my husband and I had to sit through.  The speech fully expressed what we currently (and will always) feel in our hearts for the loss of Dylan.


We miss our daughter every day.  Every minute.  We love our baby girl.

"...When you love someone like I loved her, there’s a part of you it’s like you’re attached by this invisible tether, and no matter how far away you are you can always feel them. And now every time I reach for that tether I know there’s no one on the other end, and I feel like I’m falling into nothingness.

...I miss my sister so much it feels like piece of me has been ripped off. Just one more time I want to hold her. Just ten more seconds— is that too much to ask? For ten more seconds to hold her? But I can’t and I won’t and the only thing keeping me from being swallowed whole by sadness is that Jean would kill me if I did. So for now I’m just going to miss her."

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

I want my daughter back

There.  I've said it.  That is what is in my heart.  I want my Dylan back.

I want to go back to my 29th week of pregnancy.  During that exam the doctor would say that everything is going perfectly.  That Dylan's in perfect health.  We're going to have a beautiful baby girl soon.

Unfortunately, this is just a dream.  Dylan is gone.  She lives on in my memories and my heart now.  It's an unrealistic wish, but still I long for it.  I want her back.

I didn't know how much I would love her until the last few months.  She wasn't someone I could hold or talk to, but somehow while she was growing inside me, I fell in love with her, and then she was taken away from me before I could really meet her.  I never saw her look at me.  I never felt her tiny fingers wrap around mine.  I've never heard the sweet music of her cries. 

I would have shown her so much love.  Love only a mother can give. I understand now.  I understand what mothers feel for their children.  The unconditional love that one feels that can never be defined.  I understand.  When people say, "You will understand when you're a mother..." I can honestly say that I do understand now.

My heart is so broken.  I know that life goes on.  I have to live on.  But a part of me died when Dylan did.  I will heal in time, but I will never be whole...

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

A final farewell

On Friday, May 7th, we got up before dawn and headed out to Turtle Hill.  For those who don't know it, it's a small park on the top of a hill in the Sunset District that overlooks San Francisco.  It was a very quiet morning.  No rush to get to work.  No traffic.  Just a quiet drive of a family of three together for the last time.

It was still dark, with the sun was slowly making its appearance.  Light enough for us to see, but still in need of a flashlight.

Under the tallest tree at the peak of the hill, we dug a deep hole.  In it we poured in the ashes of our beloved Dylan.  We also put in a small picture.  The last picture of the three of us, taken just three days before Dylan was born.  This was our final goodbye to our baby.

Though she was physically gone, one of the hardest things to do was to shovel that dirt over the ashes.   It's a moment we will never forget, but something very painful to remember.

I just want my baby girl back.  I want to go back to February 4th and hear the ultrasound technician say that everything is fine.  That we're having a healthy baby.

I want to be in that operating room again and hear Dylan take a deep breath and let out the loudest cry possible.  To have her in my arms.  To feed her for the first time.  To look into her eyes and know that she is my daughter to love and spoil like no other.

Reality is cruel.  I can only look upon pictures of my baby girl and wish she would have known how much love we had for her.

We love you Dylan Simone.  Mommy and Daddy love you so much.  You will never know...