(no subject)
Today started out positive, and then just went downhill.
We went to the doctor's office because I had a follow-up appointment from last week.
Josh dropped me off at the door, and as soon as I walked in I saw a woman holding her tiny daughter.
I averted my eyes as I walked over to the counter to sign in.
I was supposed to see a different doctor today because Levin is out of town for the week.
I signed in on the strangers sheet, and sat down.
There was a little boy playing at the table in the middle of the room.
He couldn't have been more than two years old.
His mom gave me a bright smile, and I saw another baby in a car seat at her feet.
The little boy was running around and being kind of loud, and so she pulled him over to her, and sat him on her lap.
They kissed and cuddled, and he told her how much he loved her, and I lost it.
I grabbed Josh's hand and walked out.
On the way home I called and made an appointment to see Dr. Levin on Monday.
When I got home the office called and asked where I was and if I was ok because I had signed in but then was gone when they called my name.
I started to explain what had happened, and the woman on the other end stopped me and said "Ashley, it's ok. I know what happened, and I understand why you had to leave."
I realized as she said it that she was the same nurse who just the week before was telling us how beautiful Miles was, and that she wanted a picture of him to add to her collection around her desk.
She showed us all the pictures she had of babies who had been delivered by Dr. Levin, and told us their stories, and said she couldn't wait to add him to her repertoire.
We joked that we would give her the one of him wearing his sunglasses that his grandpa had gotten for him, and that he would be the coolest baby in the office.
When we got home there was a package in the mail for Miles.
A present from Josh's friend in Italy, who obviously sent it out a while ago, and it just got here.
There was also a letter from Henry Ford Hospital filled with copies of official documents about the birth.
The days are just so hard.
I wake up, and am positive, and looking towards the future.
I tell myself that today will be better. A little bit easier. A little bit cheerier.
But then the day goes on, and someone calls.
Then the mail comes.
Then I find a breast milk storage bottle under the couch that had somehow rolled under in all the hub-bub that is having a newborn.
And by 6 o'clock I'm tired of crying, and ready to go to sleep.
And for what? To close my eyes, and see the hospital?
To see him laying on the bed with tubes in his throat while the doctors are yelling "I have no pulse!"
Every time I close my eyes I see him.
I see him on my chest before we left.
I see the car ride to the hospital, and I can feel his little hand wrapped around my finger.
I fantasize about us taking him in earlier, and getting there in time, and leaving with him healthy and beautiful the next day.
And then I wake up.
And I see him.
I see the silly faces he made, and I can feel his soft hair.
I can't close my eyes, and I can't stay awake.
And I don't want to think or feel anymore.
And I don't want to hear that I'm being strong, because I don't feel strong.
I feel weak, and hollow, and like there is a giant piece of me missing.
We're having a memorial for him on Saturday.
I'm hoping it will bring me some closure.
We were supposed to get his ashes today, but we didn't.
Hopefully we get them soon. I want them here.
I want him here.
In whatever form he may take, I want him here.
I'm going to take some of his ashes, and make them into a necklace, and wear him on my chest every single day for the rest of my life.
And I want that day to start soon.
I want him on my chest again.
We went to the doctor's office because I had a follow-up appointment from last week.
Josh dropped me off at the door, and as soon as I walked in I saw a woman holding her tiny daughter.
I averted my eyes as I walked over to the counter to sign in.
I was supposed to see a different doctor today because Levin is out of town for the week.
I signed in on the strangers sheet, and sat down.
There was a little boy playing at the table in the middle of the room.
He couldn't have been more than two years old.
His mom gave me a bright smile, and I saw another baby in a car seat at her feet.
The little boy was running around and being kind of loud, and so she pulled him over to her, and sat him on her lap.
They kissed and cuddled, and he told her how much he loved her, and I lost it.
I grabbed Josh's hand and walked out.
On the way home I called and made an appointment to see Dr. Levin on Monday.
When I got home the office called and asked where I was and if I was ok because I had signed in but then was gone when they called my name.
I started to explain what had happened, and the woman on the other end stopped me and said "Ashley, it's ok. I know what happened, and I understand why you had to leave."
I realized as she said it that she was the same nurse who just the week before was telling us how beautiful Miles was, and that she wanted a picture of him to add to her collection around her desk.
She showed us all the pictures she had of babies who had been delivered by Dr. Levin, and told us their stories, and said she couldn't wait to add him to her repertoire.
We joked that we would give her the one of him wearing his sunglasses that his grandpa had gotten for him, and that he would be the coolest baby in the office.
When we got home there was a package in the mail for Miles.
A present from Josh's friend in Italy, who obviously sent it out a while ago, and it just got here.
There was also a letter from Henry Ford Hospital filled with copies of official documents about the birth.
The days are just so hard.
I wake up, and am positive, and looking towards the future.
I tell myself that today will be better. A little bit easier. A little bit cheerier.
But then the day goes on, and someone calls.
Then the mail comes.
Then I find a breast milk storage bottle under the couch that had somehow rolled under in all the hub-bub that is having a newborn.
And by 6 o'clock I'm tired of crying, and ready to go to sleep.
And for what? To close my eyes, and see the hospital?
To see him laying on the bed with tubes in his throat while the doctors are yelling "I have no pulse!"
Every time I close my eyes I see him.
I see him on my chest before we left.
I see the car ride to the hospital, and I can feel his little hand wrapped around my finger.
I fantasize about us taking him in earlier, and getting there in time, and leaving with him healthy and beautiful the next day.
And then I wake up.
And I see him.
I see the silly faces he made, and I can feel his soft hair.
I can't close my eyes, and I can't stay awake.
And I don't want to think or feel anymore.
And I don't want to hear that I'm being strong, because I don't feel strong.
I feel weak, and hollow, and like there is a giant piece of me missing.
We're having a memorial for him on Saturday.
I'm hoping it will bring me some closure.
We were supposed to get his ashes today, but we didn't.
Hopefully we get them soon. I want them here.
I want him here.
In whatever form he may take, I want him here.
I'm going to take some of his ashes, and make them into a necklace, and wear him on my chest every single day for the rest of my life.
And I want that day to start soon.
I want him on my chest again.