"When Tomorrow Starts Without Me"

Every morning was a struggle. I bought black-out curtains to put over the window in our bedroom. Waking up was torture. Those first two weeks were like a bad dream and it seemed like nothing was real. As reality began to sink in, waking up meant that she was not here. It meant that I would have to get out of bed and exist without her. My baby is dead. Cold hard words to type ... unbearable to live through. I remember the first few mornings without my Story. I woke up and thought for sure it was a horrible nightmare. It couldn't be real. I would roll over and reach for the cosleeper, completely expecting her to be there. Then, as my hand met the empty spot in the bed where the cosleeper had been, I would burst into uncontrollable sobbing. I couldn't believe it was true. The fog lifted and took with it my denial. I was now somewhat coherent and fully feeling, fully aching, desperately wanting .... I was raw with emotion. Sleep did not come easy, in fact it still doesn't. Closing my eyes more often than not, means reliving the Emergency Room. If I was fortunate enough to drift into unconsciousness, waking up was a like a cruel joke. Every morning I had to move forward, my day would start without her. A dear friend sent me this poem in the days following Story's death. I can only pray this is what she would say to me.