No one prepares you for the second homecoming that you could have with your baby. I was ready to have her home with me, but I still want her here living and breathing. There is comfort in knowing that she is home, even if we have to later go back for our urn as it is on backorder. I miss her laughter and smile. I miss her telling me she loves me.
This was a happier day, the day that she turned 1 month old. I remember being so proud of that little baby....so proud that I finally had a baby that looked so much like me. I was so excited for each moment and I savored every second as I was able to stay home with her the entire time that she was alive and with me. I loved that little girl with a passion that was so strong and a passion that I can't feel now and that is a scary thing. I want her back, I want to scream, cry, and beg to have her back....but I know that it is pointless to do so. Sometimes I want to ask God why....why did you have to take my sweet Adeline?
Today we brought her home in a tiny box. A tiny box that signifies 9 beautiful years of life. I don't know how to describe the feelings that I am having. There are tears, anxiety, peace, and longing. I long for her to be here with me. I long to hold her one last time. I long to hold her hand in mine while we cross a parking lot or walk across a street. I long to have her hold me and hug me. I long to have her next to me. I long to have her crawl into our bed in the middle of the night. I long for the life of my baby that I miss so much.
No one can prepare you to bring home your child after their death. No one can explain the emotions that you will have, how you feel, or what it feels like to hold a small package of ashes that once were your bright and beautiful child. It is killing me inside and yet I am glad to have her here beside me on my nightstand. I just want to hold her and cuddle her and I can't and it sucks.
I don't know what else to say right now, but all the feelings that I am having needed to be expressed. Right now until I get into a good therapist, writing is my therapy. I imagine after a good therapist, writing will still be my therapy....just in a very new and real way.