unfortunately, the 10th always comes after the 9th
She was born on the 9th and died on the 10th. Remembering her birth is bittersweet but remembering her death is still so painful. Eleven months ago from right now, we had just received the news that Abby had died en route to the city hospital. Jack had just brought Kim home from her night at Relay for Life and I was sitting in the recliner, in shock. That memory is so clear still. I still remember that my feet were cold but I couldn't move. I felt like I couldn't breathe from the pain and I could feel the Ativan dissolving under my tongue. My skin was sticky from sweat and birth fluids under my clothes and once in a while I could feel the lochia trickling out of me. I put my hands on my jiggly belly and realized that my baby was gone and I wanted her back inside me soooo badly, safe and alive. The empty car seat and the uneaten Birth Day cake on the counter just mocked me and I wanted them both *gone*.
*tears*
Once again, I have no time for this today. The girls have early dentist appointments in the city this morning, then I have to rush home to get Kim back to school, Julia to a birthday party, and myself to a counselling appointment. I don't think there will be much talking today, I'll probably just sit there and cry. Then home to study for exams that I still haven't made time to write, supper to make (that Julia won't touch) and Kim has her karate wind-up bbq tonight. What a week it's been.