I'm sorryMonday, April 23, 2012
I'm sorry for whatever I did to cause whatever happened.
I'm sorry that you will never see the sky as beautiful and blue as it was this past weekend, or as gray and rainy as it was today.
I'm sorry that you will never run barefoot through the green, green grass- toddling along after your big brother.
I see you wearing a sundress, holding a plastic beach bucket. It's empty, and purple with a yellow handle. You're smiling and your cheeks are flushed. You have tiny white teeth like pearls, your red hair is curly over your forehead.
I'm sorry that I couldn't hold on for just a bit longer- long enough to give you the opportunity to have a fighting chance.
I'm sorry that you struggled. I'm sorry that in the end, we had to say, "no. take it all away."
I'm sorry that you didn't get to meet your older siblings. Two big strong brothers who would have kept you safe and seen you as a treasure. One big sister who would have shown you all of the secret things that sisters do when their mothers aren't around. One small, big brother who would have been your very best friend.
I'm sorry that I expected you to complete the picture.
I'm sorry that I don't cry every day any more. That I smile. It's obscene, I know.
I'm sorry that I tried again so soon after you were gone. I know that you welcomed that tiny baby with open arms.
I'm sorry that that doesn't make me feel better about the whole thing.
I'm sorry that your loss has eclipsed your life. That I think more upon those last hours, when I held you in my arms- than I do about the months of movement in my body.
I'm sorry that I have become cynical. I'm sorry that I just assume that everyone else's babies will die, until I have seen them breathing and pink. And then, I'm sorry that I'm angry at them for breathing and being pink.
I'm sorry that you are not here with me, making messes of things and throwing temper tantrums. I'm sorry that you could be almost a year and a half old... but you're not. I'm sorry that there were no balloons and no celebration for your birthday. No messy baby hands in a big birthday cake, no almost toothless grin with frosting on your lips.
I'm sorry that there was no birthday crown.
I'm sorry that summer is coming and I can't take you to the sea. That we can't feel the sand squish between our toes and dig up crabs with a plastic shovel. I'm sorry that you have no sun-hat. Or winter coat. Or umbrella.
I'm sorry that we couldn't be more to one another, for a longer time and in a different place.
I'm sorry that you couldn't stay in there, safe and warm forever.
I would have kept you there, you know.