4 years

It's almost been four years since I buried my baby girl. Most of the time it feels like some terrible nightmare, not something that actually happened to me.I guess it's my minds way of protecting itself and keeping me going. Then there's this time of year, when Christmas songs are on the radio, and pretty lights and trees are in the stores. Holding a tiny pink babies' first Christmas ornament brings it all screaming back. I can see the faces, and I can feel the pain. I can see the doctor, holding an ultrasound wand to my belly and shaking her head, I can see the face of the nurse who looked at me with pain in her eyes and told me when I rang for her she would come running. I see my husbands face as he held my hand for the final push and it all became real. I see the blur the next weeks became, staring at a tiny casket, finding tiny clothes to bury her in, going to Christmas with my family with a broken body, heart and mind. Tying to sleep with nightmares and baby cries in my mind. Crying out on my knees, in the room that should have been her's and asking God why he let this happen. Four years later some details are vivid, some are hazy but the fact remains this will always hurt. Time passes, and I don't feel the pain as strong, I don't cry every time I talk about it and people don't mention it anymore. She lived. She was an acrobat in my belly, and very much wanted. I won't forget, nor will I let anyone else because she lived and what point was her life if she was forgotten?