It's the small things that make it real.

Most days I can get through with realizing  my life was supposed to be different.  I can look at my baby cousin and think "I'm still supposed to be pregnant" or "I'm supposed to have a daughter." It's like recognizing what was supposed to be.  But it never really hits home.  And then there are those moments that are as clear as day.


My family went and saw the Smurfs last weekend.  Great movie.  But I wasn't prepared for the couple in it to be pregnant.  The male lead would talk to the baby still in his wife's tummy.  It brought back my husband talking to our baby.  We'd lay in bed and I'd say 'Say goodnight' and he'd lean over pat my belly and tell our baby goodnight.  I cried at that point in the movie because of the memories it brought with us.  There was also another point where it showed an ultrasound that was 'baby's first picture'.  I cried then to.  I remembered getting our ultrasounds done and how excited we were to see our little one growing inside healthy as can be.


Then there are those moments when the smallest of things are said.  We went for lunch with for my sister's birthday and me, my mom, my sister, and my two aunts went to get pedicures afterward.  Then I wound up at a women's meeting.  They did a devotional and one of the ladies said that she believed God places a person on other's hearts for a reason.  She went on to say that she'd had my aunt on her mind and wound up calling her and going with her to the hospital and the funeral home.  She didn't mention me or my daughter.  But it hit me that's who she was talking about.  The moment she said funeral home tears started falling.  My life was real again.  The pain was back.  And now I'm sitting around a bunch of women I don't want to cry in front of because I don't want to recognize my own pain.  I want to run.  I wanted to get up and leave.  I didn't want to break down.  It was so hard to hold it in while tears were still running down my face.  The reality of my daughter in a grave was strong and painful.  My life wasn't supposed to turn out this way.


I guess I'll never know what will trigger my sadness and bring reality back into stark clarity.  I know that I don't want my daughter forgotten and I want people to talk about her.  But I guess it will never prepare me for the pain. Because as much as I want to remember her, it hurts.  It hurts in a way no mother should ever have to experience.


Just know if a little thing is said and I start to cry it's ok.  Part of it is the pain, but part of it is joy that she is remembered.