Not Forgotten
There are few things in life as rewarding as coming through an event that you dreaded reasonablely unscathed. Sunday was the one year anniverary of Mazzy's death. Waking up in the quiet house shrouded in fog was startling. There were several moments upon waking wherein I had to reassure myself that I had not gone back in time and, no, there was no dead baby in the arms of my husband in the next room. Once I was awake, I couldn't stay in bed. Every time I closed my eyes I would hear Adam shouting to call 911, an echo of an event that seems incapable of fading. I may not cry every time I relive it, but I think it is just the fact that the impact has faded because, by now, it feels like I have experienced it over and over again.
My heart is different, now, than it was. I am convinced that I was blessed by the gift of my child, but I honestly hate the way that sounds. When other people speak of blessings and gifts, the tone in their voice makes me uncomfortable. I prefer, most often, to say that I was able to love a child and I am grateful for that. I know that my daughter made being a mother, for me, the easiest thing I have ever done. I know that it will never be like that for us, even if we have another child, because the comfort of believing that nothing bad can happen has been taken from our hearts.
In the last year, Adam and I have learned a lot about strength and self-preservation. We have learned how to carve out a life that is right for us, without factoring in the feelings of too many people. That isn't to say that we aren't loving and generous, but we don't push beyond what we are capable of accomplishing, unless we want to.
Some part of me is anxious about getting through Christmas and Mazzy's birthday, but it won't be the first time we celebrated without her. I know what it will be like to wake on Christmas morning without our child and I will survive.
Adam has chosen this week to have his vacation for the year. He wasn't concerned about being off for the holiday because we won't be celebrating this year, anyway. It is only Tuesday and he is already underfoot, but I will try not to let that bring me down. I like my house and my routine and he thrives on blowing that all to hell. Hopefully we will have plenty to distract us since the dryer is acting up and may need repairs, or to be replaced.
And, just so, Here is a picture of Mazzy from two weeks before she died:
My heart is different, now, than it was. I am convinced that I was blessed by the gift of my child, but I honestly hate the way that sounds. When other people speak of blessings and gifts, the tone in their voice makes me uncomfortable. I prefer, most often, to say that I was able to love a child and I am grateful for that. I know that my daughter made being a mother, for me, the easiest thing I have ever done. I know that it will never be like that for us, even if we have another child, because the comfort of believing that nothing bad can happen has been taken from our hearts.
In the last year, Adam and I have learned a lot about strength and self-preservation. We have learned how to carve out a life that is right for us, without factoring in the feelings of too many people. That isn't to say that we aren't loving and generous, but we don't push beyond what we are capable of accomplishing, unless we want to.
Some part of me is anxious about getting through Christmas and Mazzy's birthday, but it won't be the first time we celebrated without her. I know what it will be like to wake on Christmas morning without our child and I will survive.
Adam has chosen this week to have his vacation for the year. He wasn't concerned about being off for the holiday because we won't be celebrating this year, anyway. It is only Tuesday and he is already underfoot, but I will try not to let that bring me down. I like my house and my routine and he thrives on blowing that all to hell. Hopefully we will have plenty to distract us since the dryer is acting up and may need repairs, or to be replaced.
And, just so, Here is a picture of Mazzy from two weeks before she died:
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