I Talk About It

Three and a half years ago, my daughter died. I held her in my arms just moments after giving birth to her, and watched her draw her last infrequent breaths, utterly unable to help her to breathe. It is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. It isn’t the hardest thing I COULD have to deal with, but in that delivery room, I lived one of my nightmares.

It wasn’t all bad. I learned a lot from that little girl. The pregnancy taught me things that I didn’t know I could learn. And Sidney, herself, was a delight. Her personality was like pure sunshine, filtering throught the leaves on the trees. Warm, dappled and dancing, never harsh, a golden light that radiated over everything. To lose THAT… Bitter indeed. To have enjoyed it, a gift beyond description.

There were the precious moments during the pregnancy, and a lot of laughter in between the heartache of knowing she would probably not stay long. Even in the delivery room, when we knew that we were moments away from the critical seconds that would determine the rest of her life, there was laughter, and peace. And love toward my little girl.

So much good. This child is woven into who I am. She was, and still is, part of my life.

Other people are uncomfortable speaking of her. I think they just focus on the horror of facing THEIR nightmare. They do not know how they could possibly handle it. They fear that maybe I’ll break down in tears if I speak of her, or something else, I know not what. But I speak of her anyway.

I talk of the pregancy when it is the natural thing to speak of. I mention her life, and death, as a reference point, because it certainly was that! I remember out loud the gifts she gave us – things we still refer to today as “Sidney Blessings”. The antelope that didn’t taste bad (that HAD to be a miracle!). The recliner that fit me perfectly that happened to be on sale right when I needed it. The improvements to my health that came about because of her.

I speak of her in spite of the tendency people have to look away when I do. I feel that if I keep speaking of her, naturally, perhaps one day they won’t feel compelled to look away. Maybe they’ll accept that it is ok to remember good things, and it is ok to talk about hard things. I’m sure they don’t mean to shut off that avenue to remembering and to healing. They do it because they have not yet learned that they can do otherwise, and that it is ok.

I miss my daughter. But the absence of her is no longer the raw wound that it once was. I remember her more with a smile than with tears.  I am, who I am, in family, business, and life, largely because of that tiny child who danced in and out of our life so quickly. I will keep speaking of her, and I will not apologize.