Cracked.

I remember the feeling of not wanting to wake up. I have never been a morning person. I will always choose to keep sleeping in my comfortable bed, sweet slumber. But this time it was much more severe. It trumps all the other times I wanted to keep sleeping but had to wake up. Even those times in my basement room in high school in the middle of winter, you never want to leave your warm bed for the bitter cold morning to go to school. But the feeling of not wanting to wake up to reality has never been more shocking than after Maelee died.

Family was there, I know they did that for me. Pretty sure they lifted me out of bed. Much of the first days are a blur. I remember how my sister processed grief by becoming super nurse. She was the one that remembered when I needed to take pills. I remember her with my mom and mother-in-law all standing around with bandages trying to wrap my boobs. I was a limp being, barely able to do basic tasks (mostly because I had absolutely no desire to). That feeling of shock, disappointment, and lack of desire for living, oh how could anyone live that for too long? It was terrible. And by God's grace, using our family and friends, I was able to put one foot in front of another and eventually go to sleep without Ambien and wake up without the feeling of dread overtaking all else.

Crazy how those basic instincts go away during tragedy. I had no desire to eat. I couldn't have made a meal if I tried. But my mothers would make me sandwiches with chips and a cold Pepsi and sit me out on our patio furniture in the sunshine and somehow I ate. I was so fragile and I'm so grateful for everyone being so gentle with me. I have met baby loss moms that didn't want people to treat them differently but heavens to betsy, I would haven't made it if that were the case! My family thinks I'm high maintenance anyway (whatevs), but those days after Maelee died I must have been code crazy. Ready to crack at the slightest! Let's be honest, I was already cracked. We were just preventing an all out crumble.

But praise be, I survived the first weeks of giving birth to six pounds, eight ounces but not getting to try to nurse or change diapers or learn all that you do actually bringing that baby home. Instead of learning all about newborn smells and snuggles and pure exhaustion, I was learning about grief and a new normal and what to do when God's will is clearly not my will.

And every year we will celebrate her birthday, the short time we held her. Two days after she died one Easter Sunday, we celebrate April 6 and everything we went through. Because I never want to forget all that God chose us to learn instead of drinking in newborn snuggles.

-Her Mommy