It was only two years ago that Stephen and I entered our house. A house that I didn’t recognize any more. 30 minutes prior, we were exiting the hospital. The week leading up is still a time I have not navigated through. The trauma has created a lot of black out moments that make it tough to find clarity. In fact, a lot of my memories are foggy. I almost feel like I didn’t exist prior to our daughter Lucy’s short time here on Earth.
So there we were standing in the doorway to our home, everything fuzzy – I was an outsider looking in. I didn’t know where to go or what to do, so I showered – for an hour. I didn’t feel clean or ready to get out, no matter what I did. It was there that I began to realize how much I hated my physical body. It had lost all of my trust that it blindly had for 30 years. In fact, my breasts had started producing milk so I had a sports bra and two ace bandages on to try and stop it, ASAP. I couldn’t bear the thought that my body just put me through the worst experience of my life and wanted to remind me at every second that Lucy wasn’t here for me to breastfeed.
As I write this my heart pounds out of my chest. I am writing through blurry eyes. The wound is deep and still healing, it will forever be healing. This healing does create a desire to share our story, in hopes that it can give others strength, guidance and above all HOPE. However, I can only share in pieces.
Our daughter, Lucy, made us parents and changed us forever. So no, Lucas is not my first. However, it is only now that I am starting to share Lucy more with our world. I miss her every day. In the beginning I thought about her at every second of every day. Now, she passes through my thoughts at least once an hour, I try to mention her to another person at least once a day. When he is ready, Lucas will know his big sister. She lives on through these moments. She lives on through the strength our grief created. She propelled us into a direction that I will forever be grateful for. Our lives could have gone in so many different directions; I believe it shows how beautiful her soul is that Stephen and I have found love, strength and hope through losing her. Our guiding light – Lucille Jeanne.
Karyn, I am so sorry to read about the loss of your precious baby girl Lucy. I actually read this post first, but wanted to comment on your earlier one. I know what you mean about sharing. That dreaded question sometimes of how many kiddos can be difficult. Many of us on the site have talked about that. I'm an angel mom too and lost our third son at 30 weeks and was 30 years old at the time. I came home from the hospital exactly as you did and disappeared to our master bedroom to take a shower. It seems like it takes forever to get the feel of hospital off. My milk came in too and resorted to ice packs on my chest over several days to stop it.
Those moments, that time, the smells, the triggers are all there as you well know. One does their best to navigate through so many emotions and so much heartache. These little angels give us strength to do amazing things. I am so glad that she is providing that guiding light for your family. You're right in that Lucas will so want to know all about her and he'll feel that same love that you have for her in your words. Your story will inspire and give strength to so many. I have to believe that some kind of good comes from such loss. Thank you for sharing your daughter with us and I anticipate more chunks when you're ready. I'll be thinking of your family through this holiday season.
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