I started writing to you a few weeks after you died about the five days you lived. I wanted to write it all down before I forgot or before I couldn’t anymore.
Good thing I did. No way could I write day five right now. I have no clue how I got through that in the first place.
I’m sad that your days blur together six months later.
Since early on, I knew I wanted to tell you about Aunt Megan. You met her! She was a huge part of your five days. You didn’t get to meet a bunch of family or friends in your five days. I know it’s hard for many of them. Some of them even had presents and plans to come see you after we were settled.
Okay, so Aunt Megan didn’t come see you on day four. But, I wrote myself into a corner. But, everything with your life and death seems to come full circle, so I’m sure I’ll write myself out.
Aunt Megan is my baby sister. When you were born, I looked down at you with love and awe, but also with a bit of confusion, I thought you were Aunt Megan. At first, you looked just like one of her baby pictures.
Aunt Megan met you about four hours after you were born. She drove all the way from Indianapolis and we all shook our heads at her because she made a two hour drive in just over an hour.
We have a picture of the moment she met you. Someone snapped it as an afterthought. Like most kid’s first steps, or kindergarten graduation, this has turned into an epic photo of your life. One of your moments.
I knew tonight was the night to finally get this out to you. I was in the hospital with Aunt Megan. She is fine! Don’t worry. She had a routine surgery, and did have some slight reactions to medications, but with a few days rest, she’ll be just fine.
I sat by her side all day at the hospital. The medicine they gave her made her a bit loopy and she kept flashing these little girl smiles. She’s only two years younger than mommy, but I’ve always mothered her. I felt like she was my little girl today. Sometimes I look at Aunt Megan and think of you. I think you are a lot like her. I think she would have influenced you much. She planned on doing so many girlie activities with you. She has no other nieces or nephews. You’re it. Today, taking care of Aunt Megan and watching her child like doe eyes stare at me in a (legally) drugged confusion, I knew today was Aunt Megan’s day.
Time to get out of this corner. I need to remember day four. So day one you were born, day two we were in the hospital and on our way home. Day four.
Once we were home, days and nights and time all stopped. I sat in an old beaten recliner and nursed you, held you, rocked you. Once and awhile, I’d put you next to me and just stare and stare at you.
I remember thinking our house was the happiest, most comfortable place on Earth. We kept it clean and tidy for you and during the day, I turned the television to stations that played music. We listened to children’s music, classical music, anything I felt soothed us. We listed to a CD of lullabies. I remember one by the artist Jewel. I think I might listen to that soon.
By day four, mommy was happier than she’d ever been. But, she’d just given birth. Other mommies will know what I mean by this, but sometimes when you were asleep or safe, I’d just burst into tears. Daddy would rub my feet and I’d cry and laugh. I’d tell him, “this is so strange, I’m happier than ever I was, I’m so happy to be crying.” See, I wasn’t sleeping more than an hour or two at a time tops, so I was so, so tired. And, I barely found time to shower.
Day four, we were adjusting to our new life. We were happy. I remember the way the house smelled. Like you, like a baby. The magical baby smell. I remember how the house sounded, your cries, which I didn’t mind because I thought they meant you were healthy. I remember waking up from my short naps to hear daddy rattle on about every moment I was asleep. And, I’d ask him more questions. I’d ask him about what you did every single moment.
Aunt Megan called. I sent her pictures of you on my phone. She planned her next visit to see you. I think it was for the next weekend or so.
But, just like that, you were gone.
I’m glad we had those moments. Moments like the time you met your Aunt Megan.
They prove Cora, your story might be really sad, but it’s also really happy. The most sad I’ve been. The most happy I’ve been. All in five days.