Despite all the happiness now in my life, sometimes the loss of our little girl is still too much for me to bear. It comes out of nowhere, when I least expect it. Being able to hold Ian while my heart breaks eases the pain, but only so much.
I was holding Ian while I was knitting last night and I was thinking about a baby sweater that I knitted a few weeks ago that I ended up not really liking. I was thinking about throwing it into our Goodwill bag, and then for a second, I thought about putting it on my childhood doll, Andy. Andy is sitting in Ian’s closet. When we found out Jillian was a girl, I bought a new outfit for the doll, and a couple of weeks later washed her hair and curled it, attempting to make her as pretty as she was when I received her as a birthday gift over 20 years earlier. I wanted her to be beautiful for when I passed her down to Jilly.
I thought of that last night, and I remembered the anticipation of our daughter’s arrival. I forget sometimes that we’re not still waiting for her to arrive. She’s already been here and is gone, and there’s a tiny part of my brain that can’t process that she isn’t coming back. I don’t wan to believe it, and part of me can’t. I sat here knitting, staring at her urn and picture, with tears running down my face, while Ian was passed out in my arms, laughing and smiling at something in his dreams. It reaffirms that no matter how blessed we are, no matter how happy I am, there’s always going to be a hole in my heart. It sucks. It hurts. As much as I cherish my little boy and wouldn’t trade him for anything, I still want my little girl.