Seven months

Dear Jillian,

I don’t know how this day is here already. I guess we’ve been busier than I thought. Looking through my posts here, I obviously haven’t been posting as much. I think it’s partially due to healing, but I also don’t have much to say that I haven’t already written. That doesn’t mean I don’t think about you constantly.

My birthday was on Saturday, and I had been dreading it. I couldn’t have the only thing I wanted, and it was a reminder that you’ll never have a birthday. It ended up being a lot like my due date – the anticipation was much worse than the actual day.

On the other hand, I hadn’t really considered how difficult yesterday would be. We came to the Cape to spend the holiday with friends. These are the same friends whose Christmas party we were getting ready for when my water broke. Fortunately, we’re at a different house. I haven’t been to their home since then, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to go there. Anyway, just seeing them is a reminder of the Christmas party we never made it to, and everything that happened afterwards.

The hardest part has been watching the mommy with her two daughters. Her love is obviously fierce and they clearly adore her. All I can think about when watching them interact is the relationship we missed out on, and it hurts. Watching the younger daughter is more difficult. She’s hilarious and sweet, and she always has a look in her eye like she’s up to something. It’s how I imagined you would be and it makes me miss you like nothing else. I kept picturing you in the white dress with red and blue anchors that is hanging in your closet and imagined how big you would be and how proud I would have been to show off my sweet girl.

There were so many times yesterday when I wanted to jump into the car and drive home. I wanted to escape, but I knew that leaving here wouldn’t help me escape anything. If we had gone home, I’d still be in the same hell I’ve been in since we lost you. There is no escape. Time has made it easier, but I will never stop wishing I could change everything.

We love you and miss you so much, Monkey. You are my heart and i don’t know how I’m surviving without you.


5 thoughts on “Seven months

  1. This is such a beautiful letter Megan! We had a very similar experience at a Fourth of July cookout that we went to on the 3rd. There were so many small children that it was almost overwhelming, like a ridiculously constant reminder that we were the only ones there who didn’t have one. I think it may have been the most difficult holiday yet.

    Thinking of you always

  2. I don’t think it matters how you are surviving, but the fact that you are surviving. Love you, Dave and Jillian so much.

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