July 22nd, A grieving heart.

My angel Ruby, today I write to you with great sadness in my heart. Please excuse the tone, but I need you to know how greatly you are missed today. I knew this day was coming, I avoided it all weekend. This was the day I had to say the words out loud that I knew would break me all over again. I had to go in to see Dr. B for a check up, to make sure the incision they made to get you out safely was healing correctly. It pains me to think that my baby was gone before the surgical tape even fell off of the fresh wound left on my body. We shared in a little smirk when he found out I had not only made it safely to Boston (3.5 hours from home) but I had a few hours to spare. I reminded him of my assurance to any and all who asked during my pregnancy what my emergency plan was, should you not wait for the scheduled c-section, that I would get in the car and go to Boston. We shared photos of you with him, and told him that the midnight drive was well worth it, and that the beautiful 16 days worth of memories were more than worth the crazy journey we embarked on months ago. With pain in my heart, I told him that he now knows for the future, should he encounter another family in our shoes, that he can comfort them with the chance that not all hope is lost. That family may find comfort in the chance that their child may not pass immediately either, they too may get 16 beautiful days to make memories to carry with them.
The fact of the matter is there is no “healing” this kind of broken, you only survive it. I know, who am I to say, I’m only days into it. I have had time to “prepare” my heart for this, as much as can be expected. I knew from my research that the chances of that crazy red haired doctor being wrong about the lethality of your dysplasia was less than 1%. I chose not to share this information with anyone, on the insanely rare chance that someone would hear my pleas and spare you this kind of ending. I chose not to accept this information for my own sanity, you could feel every emotion I felt and I would NOT let you feel that kind of sadness. Maybe, just maybe that is why we were given that time, because of something I did right, maybe I’m just patting myself on the back too much. I knew that the chances of you coming by 35 weeks was pretty high but I was confident that I could hold onto you longer than that, I put a slimy pill on my cervix each night in an attempt to hold you in. (Sorry if that was TMI). Why do I write all of this? Because I need you to know I tried everything to protect you, to save you from the inevitable. I’m sure some people may wonder “Why would you ever want to carry a child you know is not going to come home?” Or some various sort of that thought. Simple, you are a person, you are my daughter. If you should ask any parent if they were given a choice of never seeing their child or spending just one minute with their new baby, even if that baby’s heart never beat outside her womb, most parents will tell you they pick 1 minute over never any day. Sure the fear of what is to come is overwhelming, and the fear of this emptiness within my chest is enough to bring anyone to their knees, but nothing is as strong as those memories. The feeling of your fuzzy hair under my chin, the squeeze of your tiny fingers around my fingertip, the blue sparkle of your eyes, the smell of your skin wrapped up tight in that blanket, the way you twirl your hair when you’re tired. Those are the memories that make every second of carrying you, every mile driven to appointments, every tear that fell, completely, without any shred of doubt, worth it.
I would have given up my life gladly in less than a second if it meant you could live. Surviving your own child is not the order of life, we are programmed to believe this. I am told each day how “strong” I am, but honestly I don’t feel so strong. I put on a brave face and I climb out of bed because I know if I don’t someone will come to encourage me to do so. How do I explain to someone who has not lost their baby what this feels like? My chest physically hurts with the weight of my heart, I don’t mean this metaphorically, I mean I can actually feel the weight of my own heart in my chest. My blood feels like tiny razor blades going through my veins, yes I can actually feel the sting in my extremities. The thought of opening my eyes, or even breathing is exhausting. I couldn’t even tell you if the incision hurts because the pain of my own emotion is just far too overpowering. I choose a new blanket from your laundry bag to sleep with each night so that your scent never wears off. I hug that blanket so tight and breathe in what I can only describe as the smell of a fresh cool rain in the spring on the earth beneath me. Go figure you would smell like that to me. Spring represents new life emerging from the depths of a cold dead winter. Spring is the earth being reborn into beautiful rows of fresh green grass and soft yellow flowers.
I never followed a specific faith Ruby, I was taught to believe in whatever I wished. Up until now I believed that my loved ones wander around with us from time to time, watching over me. This was my hope. I believed after their passing, all pain ends, that they all gather together and talk about us, and laugh with us, and late at night when we cry alone, they put a cool hand on our shoulder and try to soothe our aching hearts. But what about babies? Do you grow up where you are? Do you get to be a little older to walk and talk? Do you stay an innocent baby and only speak with your eyes and heart? I imagine you now about 3 or 4. Your brown hair shines with gold and red strands in the sunlight as it strays wildly from your head in the breeze. Your blue green eyes laugh with you while you run in a field of buttercups in the warm spring afternoon. You speak no words yet I can hear you coaxing me to come chase you in the afternoon sun. Your legs are long and I can see your bare feet pushing down in the grass. Your arms stretch out in front of you, your small fingers splayed out to help you gain speed. Your dress is as blue as the sky with tiny white flowers embroidered all over and trimmed with a delicate thin strip of lace. I can smell the fresh grass and feel the breeze on my cheeks as I pretend to not be able to catch up. Is this where you are Ruby? Are you playing in a field waiting for me to catch you? I hang onto this image so tightly right now. I try so desperately to not relive the moment I knew your heart stopped. I try to change the image in my mind of those last few minutes, to something easier on my broken heart. Daddy and I held your hands in those last moments as I cradled you with one arm between us. I didn’t want you to be afraid. Please tell me you weren’t afraid Ruby? Daddy and I did what we thought was best for you. Your doctors and nurses did everything they could possibly do, and more, to try to help you. We all hoped that you would be the exception. But we all knew that you were fading fast those last few days and there was no chance of you coming off of that vent, which also meant you would never come home. You hated having that tube in your mouth, you hated the vibration in your body from the vent, you were not happy. The only way to keep you comfortable and make you relax to let the vent breathe for you was to pump multiple drugs into your tiny veins, it wasn’t fair to you. We had crossed the line between helping you and forcing you to stay with us. I hope you can understand our choice. We only wanted to do right by you from day 1. We tried to be the best parents we could. I must tell you though, Daddy is my secret weapon. Late at night when I cry out of no where he grabs my hand and just quietly holds it. He doesn’t look at me funny when he finds your blanket in our bed in the morning he just hugs me tighter. Daddy is the reason I appeared so strong. Between you and I Ruby, some days I think Daddy was my puppeteer, pulling on strings to make my arms and legs move. Some days I held him up too, and most days I did all the talking, I think because I turned into a brick wall when it came to being your voice. I knew the questions before they were asked, I knew the tests, I knew the terms (mostly) I memorized our plan, and until that day I was able to dictate your care without getting too emotional. ( whatever that means for a postpartum mom of a baby with TD) When the time came to plan for your last day with us I couldn’t think straight. It felt like a horrible nightmare, that I would wake up still 34 weeks and 3 days pregnant, that I was still taking that nap. Some moments are unbearable, others are a bit more “tolerable”. I feel at peace when I write to you, so I’ll just keep writing. I look at the time we shared and I realize I have no regrets. I took a million photos, I say by your bed and watched you sleep, I smelled your head and memorized that smell. I traced the curve of your face and touched your button nose (despite you crinkling your face at me for it), I told you how proud I was of you and how much I love you. I begged whoever might be listening to my pleas to save you, I begged for us to trade places, I begged for just one more look in your eyes, one more squeeze, one more kiss on your chubby cheeks and your fuzzy head. I was fully prepared to sell my soul to the devil if need be, but then I realized I was trying I trade places with an angel. I could never live up to that standard. I have seen too much and felt too much and quite frankly am FAR too opinionated to ever be an angel. You on the other hand will forever remain innocent and unscathed by the world, you love and trust because you have no reason not to.
I have learned in this time that there were so many lessons to be taught by you. I have heard quite a few from people I wouldn’t have even imagined would take your lesson seriously. Maybe not everyone who reads these letters will understand how you shook the world to the core, for the others, they cry with us late in the night, they read each word as if it was their own. They realize that there is still hope and love left in the world and it’s right in front of all of us if you just slow down to take it in. It only took you 16 days to touch the lives of people far and wide, for this I am one proud momma. If I have to hand you back to the angels that sent you, I wanted to at least know that you didn’t go quietly. After all you are the other half of me. I love you sweet girl, keep playing until we meet again.