processing

I am so angry as I think about what was taken from us in her death. We were not allowed to hold her. We had to fight for a chance to even see her. I wanted to scoop her up and cuddle her. I wanted to take my time with her to say goodbye. Maybe a picture or a hand and footprint. Because of the way the police improperly processed everything, it was a crime scene investigation and we were not even allowed to touch her. (Of course, I pressed my face against her cheeks and kissed her – but they would not unzip the body bag all the way. They were nervously rushing us so the M.E. could take her. It has been almost two years and I am just now truly processing the closure that was stolen from us in her death. All of the apologies we received from the officers superiors for improper processing of the scene will never give us that last cuddle. I am angry.

easter

How could I not say something on Easter? All I want to do is see her chase down the eggs like all of the other two-year-olds. To run with her brother and sister after these colored orbs that bring such joy. They are hidden in our home on Easter morning. She would hear what it truly means to say Christ has risen. I ache to see Story know her baby sister. Two of Storys older siblings knew her and loved her. But her oldest and youngest siblings will not know her in this life. All of these things just hang over my head. I know we made the wrong decision in placing Keegan for adoption. He should be here. We didn’t pray enough and ultimately we let emotion make our decision.

My original thoughts always stray back to Keegan, for a million reasons - because he should be here, because I know we could have been all he needed, and because I know and constantly feel the difference between missing my two children that are not with us. We should have kept him, and we didn’t. We were not given the choice to keep her. It is a surreal and completely complicatedly confusing journey.

I really am rambling now. These thoughts are bouncing around in my head. These are my completely unorganized ramblings.

out damned spot

I found myself staring at it tonight. That spot. We completely redecorated the living room and bed room after she died – so there wasn’t a familiar “spot” to stare at. Here I sit, typing and staring. I keep thinking about her exact time of death. What if the power hadn’t gone out that night? Would the entire routine have been different, perhaps she would have lived. What if .....

A million questions easily run through my mind every.single.day. They won’t stop running through my mind until I meet her in heaven. I know “there are no tears in heaven” but I cannot imagine anything but tears when I hold her again. I cry now, thinking about it.

I certainly wish I could focus on our reunion, rather than this spot, “Out Damned Spot”. But today, tonight … all I can see is the last minutes she ever lived and try to imagine what she was thinking. This house (as with this life) will never be the same.