I Won’t Ever Understand

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This won’t be a well-written post. I’m tired. And all I have energy for is just whatever’s there as it comes out. Not even an attempt to say it eloquently. We lost our sweet Anysia eight months ago today. Throughout them all, this was one of my hardest days yet. I took our son to register for preschool. Among the other families present, there was one with a son Izzy’s age whose parents also held his little newborn brother. This day would have been completely different with her there… but completely different if she’d never come into our lives as well—though free of the pain of losing her, also without the gift of knowing her. It should have been a joyful day. And in ways, it was. But it was a painful one. And very tough for all of us… even on levels that are not directly tied to losing our precious daughter and sister. She’d have been “my second” with me… my eight-month-old in tow… Izzy’s little sister, tagging along like Rosie on Cailou… likely nestled into a stroller while Izzy played with the kids and got to know the teachers and while I sat and listened to the director’s announcements for parents. I might have rocked her stroller back and forth, as she took her morning nap, so that I could listen to the important details of Izzy’s first school year. The two initials dangling from the delicate chain around my neck might have made immediate sense to anyone who might have noticed them. And when one of the teachers asked me if Isaac is an only child, I would not have fumbled for the correct words, only to end up giving her the easy answer {“yes”} that would not make me cry in the middle of his orientation and a room-full of three-year-olds and their parents. In fact, she would not have asked the question in the first place, because she would have seen my baby girl with me and would have known the answer before she could formulate the question. But Anysia wasn’t there. And so none of those things turned out that way. And I even forgot, in all my busyness with preschool errands, that today was the eight-month mark until I picked up my husband from work and he reminded me. And then my unusually difficult day made sense. And the rest of the day, I just wanted to cry. And tonight, after the boys rested their weary heads and I was given the time to myself to cry for her, I did… am doing. Even now, I see her and can’t fathom that she is gone… nor that she was ever there. And I miss her in the most painful and difficult ways. And I long to see her again.

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