The other day I found a crinkled up piece of paper with Taylor's writing on it, and it had apparently had water spilled on it as the colors ran and were faded. I almost threw it out without reading it, but since I am "One Who Hates to Throw Out Anything My Kids Have Created That's Special and It's Almost All Special" I read it first.
Then my heart stopped and my throat caught and my knees buckled.
"Why did my baby brother die"
"When can I talk to him"
"When can I not cry"
I have already put this note in my baby box along with other items that I never really want to look at again, but can't throw away. So I forget the exact wording of her questions, but that's the gist. I am guessing these were questions to God.
All four of us mourn this baby like we actually met him or her. Kevin tears up sometimes if I bring it up, but he doesn't talk about it really. Bailey once in awhile says something like "if Baby Collin were here he'd be in a high chair now" or if Baby Collin were here I'd hold him in the pool" and it makes all of us nod and cry for a minute. Taylor and I both have grieved more outwardly, and we comfort each other. The thing that she talks about most is how much she wanted to sing "Baby Mine" for the baby, and be a big sister. I always encourage her to sing the song anyway, and she does through her tears for her brother in heaven. I remind her she is a wonderful big sister, and was right from the beginning, petting my tummy and talking to the baby. As the pregnancy went on and things were not going right, she prayed for her baby sibling.
My sweet Taylor Elise, those are my questions too baby.
Tears flow down my face as I write this. I want that baby so much I can't see straight. Something wasn't right from the start, but I saw his/her precious heartbeat and I was so comforted. I thought, ok, our little one just took his time coming around and now he'll really start growing. With the girls my HCG levels were extremely high, and I knew that my slowly climbing numbers were a bad sign. I knew it was a bad sign when I measured 7 weeks when I should have been 10. I knew I was feeling way too good, when with the girls I had been sick as a dog.
He or she had something wrong, and that baby was not meant to be with us here on Earth. But that baby was still meant to be in our lives. I don't know why. To teach us something? To soften us to loss so that we can be more sensitive to others? I like thinking of those reasons, although there are times when I wonder if he was taken because I would not have done right by him, or God knew he had something wrong and we couldn't handle it.
My girls are enjoying a great summer. I am too. But the baby that was and then wasn't, is never far from our minds.