Mike's letter

For Charlotte's due date, Mike wrote his letter to Charlotte...there was a space for it in her baby book. 

I wrote mine the day after she died, with minimal revision or planning...as I do here. 

That's not Mike. He put a lot of time and thought and heart into what he wrote to our daughter...and he has graciously allowed me to share it here:

My beloved Charlotte,

I am writing to you on the day that the doctors predicted we would meet.  Doctors, like all people, are not always right.  There is so much imperfection and sadness in the world.  Were this a better place, I would be holding you on this day.

It saddens me to think that I will never truly get to know you.  All I can do is imagine what kind of a person you would grow up to be.  It feels so unfair for a life so pure to not be given a chance.  Yet I find solace in the fact that you never had to experience pain or sadness.

Your father is not a religious man.  I do believe that there are things about this world that we, as mere people, cannot understand.  Perhaps it is out of hope, optimism, or just pure desperation, but I believe in my heart that you have a purpose greater than just being our child.  You are our guardian angel.  If we are lucky enough to have another child, it will be because of you.  When our family is blessed with good fortune, I believe you will be watching over us.

I want you to know that your family will always love you.  We may not get to watch you grow, but we will never forget you and how you've touched our lives.  We will celebrate your birthday every year.  We will tell your big sister all the time about her guardian angel.

Whatever road down which life takes us, we will travel it with you in our hearts.  You were too perfect for our world, but you are forever a part of our family.

With so much love,

Dad

Ask me about my daughter

You know those pins that older people wear that say things like, "Ask me about my grandkids" or "Ask me about my golf game"?  I want one that says "Ask me about my daughter."  I kind of want one that says, "Ask me about my dead child." but I don't think that would go over well.  Why don't people ask?  Why don't people acknowledge that I had a child who died?  Why is it so hard?  Do people not realize that by saying nothing they are saying the worst thing of all?  I just wanted to talk about my daughter today...all someone had to do was ask. 

Are you fucking kidding me?

A woman on facebook today posted that her cat died...23 condolence messages in an hour. I posted about Charlotte on October 15...22 messages in two months.  Today, on the day I feel like I need people to notice and remember how it should be...a cat gets more notice than my daughter. I quit life. I....quit.

Not a happy day

Tomorrow is Charlotte's due date...or was her due date.  I guess it still is her due date, though she is no longer due.  She's done.  I think I'm tired.

I'm not sure what to feel...

A part of me wants to delve down into those feelings of sadness and hopelessness and loss and regret.  I want to write and ramble about what I think and how I feel until it's all out of my system and I can breathe again. I want to share my pain with the anonymous people that the stat tracker says read this blog.  Do you care, faceless people?

Another part of me feels like I need to curl up around my grief tomorrow.  Tomorrow isn't a day to celebrate who my daughter was and is.  Tomorrow is a day to mourn the fact that I'll never know what color her eyes are.  Tomorrow is a day to long to hold her in my arms for just one more second of my life.  I don't know that I want to get that sadness out of my system....maybe, just for tomorrow, I should just let the sadness win.  I shouldn't look for relief from the pain.  I think maybe she deserves to have me ache for her.  More weight.

Another part of me wants to tell people about it.  I want to stop random strangers on the street and tell them that my daughter is gone.  I want to tell anyone who will listen, and maybe some who won't, that my angel is perfect but she's gone...she's perfect and she's gone...that seems like a contradiction.  I need people to care.  I know that it doesn't matter what other people think...I know it just matters that I know, and I remember, and I love.  Still, it seems like the world should care.  It seems wrong, in so many ways, that everyone is just going about their lives and my daughter is dead.  I don't want to use a euphemism.  It's a harsh reality.

So where does that leave me?  I don't know.  I don't know what to feel or how to act or what to say.  I'm expected to get through my day like a normal human being tomorrow, but I don't feel like one.  So many people in the world just don't understand.  They can't.  I could never begin to explain, and they wouldn't want to listen.  So how do I function?  I don't know.

I remember you, baby girl.  I miss you, baby girl.  I love you, baby girl.

Just Sad.

I'm sad. Just sad. Charlotte's due date is Wednesday, and I don't know that anyone remembers.  I know it's just a day...and it's not even the right day because she would have been here already by scheduled c-section...but it's important symblically...to me.  I want to talk about her this week...but no one is mentioning her, so I'm not.  Just sad. I miss my angel.

Crazy

I've lost my mind. The fat lady has sung, and I'm not ready/able/willing to accept it. My mind is still seeing things that aren't there.

*sigh*

Really, facebook? Really?

I get very annoyed with the number of people who like stupid things on Facebook and comment on stupid things on Facebook and ignore everything that I post.  Am I stupid things? I don't think I'm stupid things,  but other people seem to. I posted a video of Mia today looking really cute and eating with her spoon, and she's only 18 months old so I think that's very cool and impressive...and that was 2 hours ago and no one has commented or cared... while the person who posted 17 lolcats in a row now has 20 to 30 likes each and multiple comments and I don't understand.