Through the Looking Glass

She would have been 5 weeks old today. In two days, it will have been 3 weeks that she has been dead, and still it feels surreal and unreal and as if I have stepped through Alice’s looking glass into a strange world where nothing makes sense. How can my baby, my tiny, perfect, beautiful little girl, be dead? Someone please make this make sense to me, because I cannot make this come together in my head. I don’t blame the hospital, because I watched, hell, I PARTICIPATED, in doing every damn thing we could to save my baby girl’s life, but it wasn’t meant to be, I guess. We tried so hard. She went peacefully though. When her doctor knelt next to me to tell me she was dropping her heart rate into the seventies, I knew she was going. I knew when they told me, almost an hour prior to that, that her potassium levels were 10.6, almost 4 times what they should be. We knew her heart was going to give out soon, but we held out hope, and I sat at her bedside, crying helpless tears, begging my baby to stay with me, to fight on, not to leave me, and alternatively telling her it was ok, that Mommy was there, that I would make it ok. In the end, I think I did what was right, but my Gods, that was the hardest decision I have ever faced.
“Kelly, her heart rate has dropped. I know we discussed this already, but I have to ask you again what you want to do?”
“Get it off of her. Just get all the tubes and wires and needles out of and off of her.” It was the last thing I said without crying until after she passed, when I began having odd moments of perfect calm and clarity. The nurses gently and quickly stripped my poor, tiny, 2 pound little girl of all the tubes and needles that had invaded her miniature body, and for the first time ever, I was able to see her perfect face. A small human, formed to perfection, in miniature scale. She did not open her eyes, but I had seen them once, dark blue. Her tiny little nose turned up at the end, and her rosebud lips were parted ever so slightly for the tip of her tongue to protrude. She was so beautiful, with rounded cheeks and even a full head of dark brown hair. Her bitty fingers were long, with perfect little fingernails at the end of her miniscule hands, and feet that seemed slightly larger than proportionate for lack of body fat ended in beautiful little toes. Her father and I took turns holding her as she slowly, oh so slowly, began to slip away from us, passing peacefully into her final rest. The hospital staff gave us a beautiful beaded white gown for her to wear, and we put it on her, then wrapped her in her special purple and magenta hand-made blanket, rested her toy monkey Kicks on her legs, and she rested in my arms, beautiful, a tiny, perfect, exquisite little angel as she finally slipped into her last slumber, never to wake again, warm and safe in my arms. As we held her, before she passed, we told her over and over how much we loved her, how much she was wanted, and that it was ok for her to rest now, that she could finally stop fighting and rest easy. At 3:59pm on August 21, 2015, my little baby girl, my beautiful Zora Danae left us. She was fiercely loved, and will be so intensely and desperately missed.

Now, I am sitting on my couch, sobbing, crying so hard I can barely breathe. I don’t even really know how I’m typing this other than by rote feel of the keyboard. My heart feels as if it has broken into more pieces than I can possibly ever put back together again, and the pain of this is too much for me to bear. I want to put it in a box, shove it down and slam the lid on it, and push it to a dark and forgotten corner of my mind. I don’t want to put Zora there, only the pain associated with her loss.

So please, my friends, please understand, that even if I cry buckets, I NEED to talk about my baby girl. I NEED to share the pictures of her with you, Please ask me about her. Please bear with my stories even if you’ve heard them a hundred times, because I desperately, oh so desperately, need to feel like she isn’t sliding into the abyss of everyone’s minds, lost and forgotten, alone in the cold. No child, especially a baby, should be alone in the cold. Look at the pictures and talk to me about them, AGAIN, PLEASE. I need to know my baby still lives on. I can’t lose her. I just can’t.

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~ by Kelly on September 9, 2015.

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