I wish there were some sort of secret handshake for parents whose child has died, so we wouldn't have to feel alone. I think there are many, many more people out there who've suffered this worst-of-all-losses, but it's so hard to talk about in regular society that we never realize how many people are going through the same thing.
For some reason, I've been thinking a lot about Abigail yesterday and today. She'd be nearly 20 months old now. We would've gone Easter egg hunting and dyed eggs and she would've carefully, clumsily helped plant the seeds we're germinating for our summer garden. Maybe she would've wanted to wear a frilly dress for Easter festivities or maybe she would've insisted on pants, maybe she'd have hated dresses. I'll never know.
I broke down over the sink while I was washing dishes. My unending sorrow and heartache for her had drifted close to the surface again. I couldn't stop the memories of those last few weeks with her, and I stood there with the water running down the drain and begged her forgiveness for not being more proactive, not reading the signs right so I could save her. Just like my grief, I'll carry my guilt with me for the rest of my life.
I miss you, Abigail.
Hugs.
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