So after many many months of not writing here I am staring at a blank page….ready (I think)...finally.
My heart is heavy today as I can feel my mind race, and fragment. It is hard to maintain a single thought, or take a single breath without wanting to shed a tear. Three years ago I lay in my bed with my daughter, and I watched her every breath, every movement. I was so consumed by her that I could nearly feel her pain. I could not eat, because she could not. I could not drink because she could not. I could not sleep because I would miss her last moments.
There is not a time in my life where I was more aware of everything around me, and yet nothing at all.
When I think back to March 31st and April 1st of 2011 I know that those days are days that will forever be burned in my mind somewhere. My Zoë's pink eyelids, her pale skin, her sweet hands. These are the things that I miss most.
Zoë made me a mother. She made me a better person. She made me fall in love deeper than I had ever been before.
Time has passed so quickly as it will. It takes with harshness, and sounds, and softens memories. But it will never take my love. It will never calm my quickly beating heart when I think of Zoë.
…
In Esmée's room, above her changing table mirror is Zoë's name. Because once upon a time that room was hers. Esmée likes to stand up, and pull the "Z" off of the wall, and I tell her, "Please put that back, don't touch, that is Zoë's." And in her soft, sweet child's voice Esmée will say, "Zoë.". And every time I am nearly brought to my knees…as I hear the sound of my daughter saying her sister's name. I pull in a sharp breath, and I try not to cry…and I say, "Yes honey, Zoë." I take the "Z" from Esmée's hand, and I place it back on the wall.
I know that someday we will change up Esmée's room. It will probably be repainted. It will probably become a teenagers lair. With giggling girls, and music posters, but to me, it will always be that yellow room where I rocked Zoë the first night she was home with us. Where I cried happy, emotional, exhausted, tears, and I told her all about how much I loved her, how much she was wanted, how I would do anything to protect her.
…
I have André now just 5 months and 1 day old. In 10 more days he will be older than Zoë ever was. He will be bigger than his oldest sister in so many ways. As I nurse him, and cuddle him, and tickle him I cannot help but think to myself just how blessed. How amazingly blessed I am to have this chance yet again to nuzzle a baby born on the second to last day in October.
I cannot wait to hear him say "Zoë". I know that it will feel like a swift punch to my chest the first time. I know that I will suck air into my lungs and say, "Yes honey, Zoë". I know that I will cry later when no one is looking hearing my baby boy's voice in my ears. I know that I will tell Zoë how much I miss her. How much I love her.
Mommy loves you. Yes she does. Yes she does.
My heart is heavy today as I can feel my mind race, and fragment. It is hard to maintain a single thought, or take a single breath without wanting to shed a tear. Three years ago I lay in my bed with my daughter, and I watched her every breath, every movement. I was so consumed by her that I could nearly feel her pain. I could not eat, because she could not. I could not drink because she could not. I could not sleep because I would miss her last moments.
There is not a time in my life where I was more aware of everything around me, and yet nothing at all.
When I think back to March 31st and April 1st of 2011 I know that those days are days that will forever be burned in my mind somewhere. My Zoë's pink eyelids, her pale skin, her sweet hands. These are the things that I miss most.
Zoë made me a mother. She made me a better person. She made me fall in love deeper than I had ever been before.
Time has passed so quickly as it will. It takes with harshness, and sounds, and softens memories. But it will never take my love. It will never calm my quickly beating heart when I think of Zoë.
…
In Esmée's room, above her changing table mirror is Zoë's name. Because once upon a time that room was hers. Esmée likes to stand up, and pull the "Z" off of the wall, and I tell her, "Please put that back, don't touch, that is Zoë's." And in her soft, sweet child's voice Esmée will say, "Zoë.". And every time I am nearly brought to my knees…as I hear the sound of my daughter saying her sister's name. I pull in a sharp breath, and I try not to cry…and I say, "Yes honey, Zoë." I take the "Z" from Esmée's hand, and I place it back on the wall.
I know that someday we will change up Esmée's room. It will probably be repainted. It will probably become a teenagers lair. With giggling girls, and music posters, but to me, it will always be that yellow room where I rocked Zoë the first night she was home with us. Where I cried happy, emotional, exhausted, tears, and I told her all about how much I loved her, how much she was wanted, how I would do anything to protect her.
…
I have André now just 5 months and 1 day old. In 10 more days he will be older than Zoë ever was. He will be bigger than his oldest sister in so many ways. As I nurse him, and cuddle him, and tickle him I cannot help but think to myself just how blessed. How amazingly blessed I am to have this chance yet again to nuzzle a baby born on the second to last day in October.
I cannot wait to hear him say "Zoë". I know that it will feel like a swift punch to my chest the first time. I know that I will suck air into my lungs and say, "Yes honey, Zoë". I know that I will cry later when no one is looking hearing my baby boy's voice in my ears. I know that I will tell Zoë how much I miss her. How much I love her.
Mommy loves you. Yes she does. Yes she does.
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