I should have already written about William’s first week home, but I haven’t yet. Don’t worry, it’s coming along with a lot of pictures. But I can’t write about that right now, because today was Lucy’s first birthday, and I’m sort of beside myself with grief. Honestly, I’m having a hard time even writing this. I don’t know what to do today. I want to celebrate, because today is the day I met the most beautiful little soul. I want to watch her eat her first cupcake while William dozes in my arms. I want to take pictures and laugh and marvel at how big my baby has grown. I want to have a party, but we’re not ready for that yet. Because a year after her birth it still hurts like it was yesterday. It hurts more than it did then, because then I was still in shock. Now there is no buffer and all I feel is how gone she is, how she’s missing from every day of our lives.
If I ever thought that having a new baby would somehow make up for losing her, I was wrong. William is a beautiful little miracle and we are so blessed to have him. I’m completely amazed by him and the love I have for him. But nobody could ever take Lucy’s place. Sometimes holding him makes me feel an empty ache in my arms where Lucy should have been. Poor William, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried over him, wishing I were holding them both.
Whew, I started writing this post from the deepest depths of grief, and that’s a hard place to be. Sometimes – like now – it’s hard to be hopeful, and it seems like all I feel is despair. But I took a break to just let it all out with David, and now I feel a little better. It’s hard to explain; the grief never goes away, and when I think about Lucy it kind of always feels like the world is ending, or like it should be. But now everything is more complicated, and we have to make room for a lot of happiness too. Or maybe it’s not happiness – because we were happy at times after Lucy died – but joy. William brings us such joy, and there’s just not enough time in the day for all of that grief and all of the joy. It will be hard to find a balance, I think. Right now I’ve just been fluctuating wildly between the two, but that could have something to do with the post-pregnancy hormones. I don’t know, I guess I’ll see how it goes.
Anyway, today was Lucy’s birthday, and I couldn’t celebrate it yet. I hope to get there, but this year it still feels too raw. So today we looked at pictures of Lucy while we held our new baby boy close. I cried a lot. I made Lucy a little birthday cake. David and I took William on a little drive into the desert, something we always planned on doing with Lucy. And we had an appointment in the evening with our therapist, which seemed appropriate. After Lucy died, I thought that maybe we would scatter her ashes on her birthday, but I’m not ready for that yet either. I still haven’t quite figured out how to live without her.
Her little feet, way larger than life size. In reality, they are only an inch long, but they’re just perfect.
My sweet little Lucy. I remember so clearly how happy I was when I found out I was pregnant with you. I waited all day for Daddy to get home so I could tell him, and he was just as happy as I was. We were in our nice little apartment, and the afternoon sun was coming in, and I cried because I was so happy. I remember how scared I was when you were born, and how worried we were during your life. More than that, though, I remember how you amazed and impressed me every day. I remember how I hated to leave you, how proud I was of your accomplishments, and how your strength and courage made me want to do better. I loved how stubborn you were, and how you exasperated your nurses sometimes. I loved you. I still do love you, and I will love you every single minute of my life. I could never stop, even if it meant that it would stop hurting. A piece of my heart went with you when you died, and that’s okay because it means we will always be together. You and your brother are the most precious gifts I’ve ever been given. Happy birthday Lucy Anne.