Last night was unexpectedly rough. Something in my head suddenly turned to Mother's Day, and how I was going to be celebrating it with my two little girls, one of which would have been only two months shy from making her grand entrance. Instead, I'm going to be celebrating it with my Katie and a hole in my heart. Of course Elizabeth is still here, and we can feel her, but it's not the same as what was, and that hurts terribly. Bill said he also had that down moment last night, when he approached the door. He remembered how I had greeted him that November night, where I had waited anxiously for him to come home. I flung the door open, threw myself in his arms, kissed him and said "We did it!" as I showed him the test. We were so excited and happy. There's so many moments like that which haunt me. Those times when Bill would say "hi, new baby" as he'd rub my belly, or tell me how right this felt and how he couldn't wait to see our family expanding. I was so excited for this year's annual picture in September, because a three month old bab was supposed to be there for the first time, and now she won't be. There's just such a big hole where all these memories now live and it aches.
But, last night I managed it. No one was here, I had a fussy toddler, and I had to get through being upset. My solution was to pick up Katie, turn on some loud Disney music and bake brownies one handed while dancing around the kitchen and singing. Katie loves to sing and dance, so her giggles helped to cheer me up.
This morning the headstone came. It's exactly how I wanted it. I dreaded getting it, wondering how it would make me feel, but I'm okay. Sad, yes...how could you look at your child's headstone and not be sad? But I was able to get through it. I was able to smile as I lit the candle beside it and say "good morning, Elizabeth" and watch as her memorial grew a bit more.
I debated for a few days what to do in the future. I had my bakery planned around these two little girls, way before Elizabeth was ever conceived. My bakery was to have a name that combined both of their bakery names - Katie Belle and Sugar Beth would become SugarBelle's, and it would be led by these two girls throughout their childhood and maybe into adulthood, and they'd help me teach the younger children. But...now what? Now what to do now that Sugar Beth is missing from the bakery team? I decided to go about my plans anyway. I'll keep her name, and she'll still have her apron with her embroidered bakery name that will always hang beside everyone else's. She'll still have her own signiture baked goods (hers were going to be cupcakes) and Katie and I and the rest of the children will do the same as we always would, but Elizabeth will be there in spirit now and we'll help to keep her memory alive through it. I always felt that she was going to be my busy baker. Moreso than Katie or anyone who comes next, SugarBeth always seemed like she'd be by my side the most, the most eager to learn. She'll still be at my side, and when I always speak aloud "What am I forgetting?" or "what should I do next?" maybe Elizabeth will whisper to me what the answer is.
This tunnel I'm in seems very long and dark, but slowly, very slowly, I'm beginning to see a little pinprick of light. This little bit of hope. Coming out of this still seems far away, but it's there. One day I'll be able to think of future kids without hurting, I'll be able to look at baby stuff without my heart breaking, I'll be able to stop crying over the angel who left too soon. Not today, and not tomorrow, or even next week...but someday I'll talk to her without tears, I'll embrace the idea of another baby and another after that, and I'll be okay.
Edit: going through my pregnancy book and ripping out all the pages for second and third trimester and then writing a letter to Elizabeth at the end was extremely hard to do. A 'duh' thing to say, but it brought me back to when it first happened, the pain opened up and I cried again like how I cried when I first found out. There may be more tear drops on that page than words!
Pictures of the headstone:
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