“She reveled in just living, and challenged us to do the same.” This should be my motto/mantra/way-of-life without thought.
Faith was a very difficult loss for us. We didn’t know of her until the ‘goodbye for now kid’. I was only about 4 weeks pregnant, too soon for many tests to even tell and with my ‘special’ system I wasn’t even all that ‘late’ yet. We both knew, entering into our marriage, that we really want kids. Lots of kids. Make me (even more) crazy LOTS of kids. To not even know I was pregnant until the goodbye was a huge blow to both of us. Our first child is in Heaven via miscarriage. And we still call her our little one and part of the family.
Anne was more complex. it was not so simple as ‘see you on the other side’. Our entire world revolved around that precious little girl: her wants, her needs, our interactions with her, the miraculous fact of her existence. We had hopes and plans, to the point of actually saving monies for trips to both Seattle (namesake, family), and Prince Edward Island (‘other’ namesake)…
Anne was/IS so much more complex.
Anne loved the ‘simple’ things, like leaves moving in the wind, but she also loved the complex. When my husband (V) and I would kiss (just a simple ‘hello’…… don’t wander here!!) AJ would sit and smile. When V would get home, AJ would squeal and coo that her daddy was home with us again – to the point of insisting that we both run to the door to greet him. From day one she wanted to know EVERYTHING that was going on around her. She NEVER wanted to be in her carrier facing me, it was all about watching what was going on around her and facing the world. In retrospect it was as if she knew that her time here would be short and she wanted to intake as much as she possibly could while she was here.
Anne even taught herself to ‘swim’ around the house. I have seen,mostly on Japanese sites, little microfiber ‘Swiffer’-replacement outfits that would have done wonders for our house ^_^. She didn’t crawl or roll she swam around the house. Pushing with her feet and pulling with her arms she scooted all over the place. One of the most memorable instances was when, I know I have mentioned this before, but SERIOUSLY, she scooted over to where V keeps his toiletry kit, pushed herself up to grab it off the shelf, and proceeded to empty it item by item (don’t worry, he doesn’t keep a razor of any kind in there). Anne went so far as to discern, item by item, what she wanted from the kit from those she didn’t. Apparently she had seen her dad brush his teeth often enough that she was able to distinguish, from the rest, toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss, – so much so that she even tried to brush her gums with the correct (bristly) side of the toothbrush. All this before 3 months of age. O_O. Almost half her life-span as it turned out.
Grief is a journey I don’t wish on anyone. As hard and heart-wrenching as it is to write about our lost daughters, it [writing] strangely helps to fortify my resolve to live well, be open to life and all the education that brings, and remember the innocence that children bring to this world. in spite of the hurt of loss, writing helps me live with joy. I hope it moves your heart in a good direction too!