Month Two

I had every intention on finishing Olivia’s birth story today, and then my dad called from Italy.

I was sitting in the Walgreen's drive through lane, chatting with him about the time difference, under the assumption today was the second of December. I had been to Office Max where I faxed paperwork to the insurance company. I had written December 2^ND, 2014 multiple times and nobody had corrected me. It wasn’t until my dad told me it was 7 PM on the third in Italy.

Then it happened. The lump in my throat and the burning tears threatening to spill over. As I attempted to verify the address to the pharmacy technician, I could see her demeanor shifting as she tried to complete our transaction as quickly as possible. I had not been able to fight back the tears. Curiosity, concern and bewilderment flashed across her face. They are expressions that have become all too familiar. I see them in the faces of moms pushing their babies past me at Target. Its on the face of the waitress who doesn’t understand, the elderly man in the car next to me at the stoplight and the families at Kroger just trying to get out alive while remembering the milk.

The thing about inconsolable grief is it has a nasty habit of sneaking up on you in the most inopportune moments. It is always the small reminders that cut the deepest.

A few days after Olivia passed away my aunt, sister and I ventured to Target to stock up on soda and snacks. I walked into Target knowing it was going to be difficult. I had wandered the aisles throughout my entire pregnancy thinking about how much more fun it would be when I could bring Olivia.  I walked in beside them and listened to them attempt to make small talk while we made our way to the grocery section. I was looking around while my sister picked out sodas when I spotted it. It was a tiny Memphis Tigers cheer leading outfit complete with bloomers. It was the same uniform that was hanging in her closet at home. Inconceivable sadness, fear, anger and denial stopped me dead and evoked a loud, painful sob I didn’t know was coming. I did not know at the time it would be the first of too many.

Today, our perfect Olivia would have turned two months old.

I should be snap chatting endless outfit options for her two month Instagram photo. Does she want to be casual cute or full glam? (When it doubt, always choose full glam. No self respecting woman wants to be the only one rocking yoga pants when everyone else is in skinny jeans and Frye boots.) I would prop her up in the nursery chair and snap away at the tiny human, slumped over, looking nothing less than perfect. Instead, I am trying to block out the endless reel of memories that threaten to ruin my day. Focus on the good and fake it ‘til you make. These are my survival mantras.

While today is nowhere near the day I envisioned, I am still thankful for it. Eight weeks ago to the day, I met my perfect daughter, Olivia. I held her while memorizing each tiny feature we had created. Today I am striving to remember those memories and promising myself I won’t relive the sad moments until their appropriate days. 

Today is Olivia’s 2 month birthday and anyone as special, amazing and beautiful as she was deserves to be remembered with tears of happiness.

Tonight, I will make dinner for Kelly, Rob and myself and be thankful they are in my life. I will respond to sweet text messages from family and friends letting them know I love them and they are my good. Above all, I will tell my sweet angel that mommy loves her fiercely and I thank God everyday he gave her to me.

Today is her day.