Ashes and hate

Today I finally brought Harper home - unfortunately, it was in a box.

At least it's a pretty box. So very, very tiny.

We picked up the ashes at 10 AM. At around 4:30 PM the tidal wave hit me. I couldn't stop crying, and I couldn't have told you why.

I just kept thinking, Today, I brought my daughter home in a box.

Up until then, it was a lovely day. Sunny gorgeous weather , plans with family and friends, smiled with Shea, crashing the neighbor's moonbounce birthday.

We watched a little girl, a stranger, climb up the moounbounce with Shea and commented how adorable she was. "Maybe you should make me a cute little girl like that," said Lou, carelessly.

My eyes filled with tears, "We're trying," I told him. Them a second later, "I already did."

An hour later the wave of grief hit. Out of nowhere. I was home alone with Shea and it was like getting hit by a bus. I was trying so very hard not to lose it in front of him. Not to let the harsh and ugly sobbing escape. When Lou got home I retreated to my bed and let the tears come. And come and come and come.

I decided to skip the cookout with friends we'd planned to go to. "I'm so, so sorry."

I hate this. I hate that it can sneak up on me at any time. That I have no control over it. That I can't make it stop when it comes. I hate the ugly cry. I hate that Harper's death certificate looks just like her birth certificate would have and that I had to learn the first name of her neonatologist on her death certificate. I hate that it's a beautiful day, and that I want to see my friends, but I don't want to leave my bed. I hate that I both crave people's company and want the world to leave me alone in silence. I hate that I can barely type this because I can't stop crying. I hate that our day began with Shea innocently asking, "But what happened to baby Harper?" I hate having to calmly tell him, "She died, Shea, remember?"

I hate that we brought Harper home in a box.

I want my baby back. I want to wake up and find out this was all just a terrible bad dream. I want to rewind just until yesterday, when I felt fine, when I felt hopeful. I want to stop being reminded every time my clothes don't fit. I want to use our crib and our jumperoo and our soft baby blankets. I want to curl up in our new armchair with Shea on one side and a baby on the other reading a book and rocking. I want my eyes to hurt because I was up all night with a newborn, not because I can't stop crying.

I want all of this, and I can't have it. It sucks. It's not fair. I hate it. And I hate feeling sorry for myself like this.

How did this turn out to be such a bad day?