I feel normal some days and just slightly shy of psychotic other days. I hear news of other people’s babies and I’m genuinely happy for them, but I can’t help but feel sad for my family. Sometimes I just sit and think, “I want my baby.” I talk to Hazel a lot in my head. I tell her how much we love her and how much we looked forward to parenting her. And I assure her that we would have been good parents to her (flawed, of course). I know she’s probably not actually hearing me when I speak to her, but it makes me feel better somehow.
I don’t cry too often in front of the other children anymore, because it seemed to be really bothering them—and they would get really distraught, too. I worry that when they come back in the room and I’ve still got tears running down my face that they will be bothered by that, too. At the same time, death is a part of life and I don’t want to completely hide from them how hard this is.
Here’s a picture of the table from the memorial service. On the table are some pictures of Hazel, her 3D footprints and handprint, a lock of her hair, the little bracelet she wore, a haiku written to me from one of my Mother’s students, and the lovely memory box purchased for me by friends from Amitymama (see link to the left). The service was truly lovely. We had much support both by people who attended (family came from Ohio, northern Indiana and Iowa) and people who couldn’t be there who were praying for us.