*Breaking down but looking up*

I always miss
Malou,
but I haven’t had that
all-encompassing,
can’t-imagine-having-to-go-on
feeling that I had many days in the
first year after losing her.

I was also doing, I thought,
surprisingly well during my
recent hospital stay,
all filled with memories of her.

But not long after being discharged,
I broke.

Malou
should be here.
This should be her first Christmas
in Denmark
(her first was going to be spent
in the US).

Instead I spent most of the yesterday
 lying in bed in pain,
with the familiar feelings
of hating my body
for betraying me yet again,
(for not keeping my daughter safe,
for not letting me get pregnant,
for ruining Christmas,
for potentially hurting my son)
and realizing that
Baby Boy
is not a sure thing.

Realizing that I miss
Malou
terribly, but I don’t even know
what to miss about her.

I can’t imagine her as
a year-and-a-half year old.

I can only see her as
a sweet, little baby,
lifeless but so perfect.

As I heard the women
laboring the other night,
and the cries of their newborn babies,
I realized that I just can’t envision that
for myself.

That’s not how it was with
Malou.
And I have no guarantees with
her brother.

This is going to be a long 5 weeks,
but I can do it
because I have no choice.
And because the hope
I hold in my heart
is worth the fear and the pain and the doubt
that creep in.

I hope, I pray, I need to believe,
that this will be our last Christmas alone.

I know we’re not alone.
In fact, we’re quite lucky to have such good families,
and I feel very grateful that
I have Tom.
We spent last night
with Tom’s sister and her husband,
eating a traditional
Danish Christmas dinner.

But today we,
Tom and I,
are alone.
And missing our girl.
And impatient for our boy.
But yet when writing this,
I realize
we’re not alone.
I can feel my family and friends,
my Malou,
and my fellow babyloss mamas
right here with us.
And I can feel
my son kicking me,
reassuring me,
every step of the way.

Thank you, all, for that.
It means more than I can say today.

***

Again at Christmas did we weave
the holly ’round the Christmas hearth,
the silent snow possessed the earth,
and calmly fell our Christmas eve.
The yule-log sparkled keen with frost,
no wing of wind the region swept,
but over all things brooding slept,
the quiet sense of something lost.
-Alfred Tennyson

***

Our dearest daughter, we wish you were here with us to make our Christmas happy and full of joy. We have so many traditions we want to share with you, so many family members and friends we want you to know. We miss you every day, but your absence is felt even more when we are with family and you are not here with us physically. I can’t say it better than your grandma, that we love you immensely and that no one will ever take your place in our hearts. We love you, baby girl, and hope you are safe and sound and happy and loved wherever you are.
Glædelig jul, vores dejlige datter!
Vi elsker og savner dig så meget.

 Mor og Far

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