Yesterday

I went to bed two nights ago with my husband and daughter by my side, absolutely dreading the next day.

No one wants to lay their child to rest.

The only good thing about all the crying and roller coaster of emotions and thoughts with all of this is that by nighttime, you're exhausted. Absolutely three thousand percent zapped of energy and so, by the time your head hits the pillow, you're asleep in a few seconds.

So I slept. The Husband slept. M slept. But yesterday morning, The Husband and I didn't say a lot. To others. Each other. There's just not much to say on the morning of burying your baby.

We showered. Got dressed. Went to the cemetery.

As soon as I saw the tent set up in the Garden of Angels, where Brielle is interred, I started crying.

I can't seem to find the words to express how I felt yesterday. I mean, you're in a cemetery. Most of us have been in one already. It's not our favorite place to be, but we handle it fine..

But when you're in the cemetery for someone close to you? It hurts.

And when it's for your child? The pain is indescribable. Unfathomable.

Unreal.

Because with that little body, in a 22" casket made from a mulberry tree, came hopes and dreams.

That little person who grew inside of me for 36 weeks and 6 days? She was, and is, half of my heart. She was a part of our family, a part of our story, before we even took the pregnancy test.

Brielle didn't get a chance to take a breath of air. She didn't get a chance to know the awesome Daddy she has, or the incredible big sister she has that always talks about going for a ride in her wagon with her "baby sister!!"

And we don't have the opportunity to know how amazing Brielle is. What her favorite color is, her favorite food, her favorite type of music.

We're missing out on so much, all four of us.

The service yesterday was beautiful. It was supposed to thunderstorm yesterday and instead, we had blue skies with some puffy white clouds and lots of sun. My Brielle gave us a beautiful day to celebrate her life.

Family and close friends came to Brielle's service (it just won't ever get easier to type that, I'm sure.. Brielle's service) and each of us dumped some dirt on Brielle's casket. It symbolizes, in my culture, the returning of our loved ones to the earth.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

I can't believe that my husband and I had to do that. Return our child to the earth.

I don't want to return her. I want Brielle here with me.

It's horrible. It sucks. And I don't wish this on anyone.

After everyone left Brielle's side and returned to their cars, my sister caught me going back to her graveside. (My child has a grave. And commence more tears now.)

I started crying again. And sobbing. I asked, then told Brielle, to wake up. To come back to me.

But she didn't.

Just like when I delivered her and the doctor laid her on my chest.

I was sobbing, begging Brielle to wake up. I was holding her, my innocent baby born without a beating heart, to wake up. To come back to us, her parents and sister that loved her before laying eyes on her.

I just want her back.

My parents hosted everyone at their house after the service and there were trays of deli and fruits and veggies.

Everyone told me to drink water and eat.

How can I eat deli? I'm still supposed to be pregnant for another two weeks. And we all know deli is a no-no while pregnant.

But I ate a few slices of it anyway, because I know Brielle is watching over me, telling me to take care of myself so I can still take care of her big sister and Daddy. I hadn't eaten in almost a day.

Everyone left my parents house, and that's another part I was dreading.

Everyone goes back to their normal, their new routine.

Everyone goes back to their families, their babies, their jobs.

But my husband and I?

We're left with a new "normal" we didn't ask for or want.

We're left with a gaping hole in our heart that will never be filled.

I'm left with a body that's now a shell. My stomach feels empty and I feel like a failure of a woman.

I was supposed to keep my child safe. And somehow, my body failed both Brielle and me.

That's how I feel.

And so yesterday ended the same way it started. Few words, a terribly aching heart and yet extreme gratitude for the healthy and happy daughter I do have with me.

I went to bed last night with a mind that was torturing me. Images of my stillborn daughter flashing through my head. Images of the cemetery and me never getting to hold my baby girl again.

It's torture. And it's only just beginning.

I know today is a new day, but for now, every day is some sort of hell.

Knowing I should still be pregnant yet I'm not.
Knowing I should be feeling aches and pains related to pregnancy and yet I'm dealing with aches and pains related to delivery.
Knowing I should be counting down the days to my due date of July 21st, yet I'm now counting the days since I last felt my sweet child in my belly.
Knowing I should be finishing up Brielle's nursery, yet instead we took her car seat out of the car and moved the bassinet away, because the pain of seeing them empty hurts more than we can bare right now.

Yesterday.

The worst day of my life.

Yet I know a part of every day will be the worst day of my life because Brielle won't be here to enjoy life with us.

And now I have to go through life without my second daughter.

I love you Brielle Elena.

And as I told you yesterday, I miss you terribly.

And I love you.

Please Baby Almond. Come back to us.