6 years

Yes.  I've been slacking.  Life happens.  I blog when I feel the need.  Or when I have time.  Grad school has been getting in the way and taking up lots of time.  Get over it.

Must vent.  I hate today.  It is this utter visceral reaction to Friday the 13th, but this one in particular.  I was admitted to the hospital with M on Friday, March 13, 2009.  Exactly 6 years ago.  Today.  On a Friday the 13th.  I want to punch everyone in the face.

Everyone wants to tell me to "focus on the good" or "be thankful for how things turned out."  That makes me want to spit fire in your eye.  Yes, I have my daughter.  Yes, she is perfect in every way possible.  No, I wouldn't trade her for the world.  And one day, maybe that is all I will be able to feel on days like this.  But there is still this black cloud.

You don't know what I carry around with me.  You don't know what it's like to basically hear "if your daughter is born now, we will let you hold her until she dies."  You don't know what it's like to have your body completely and utterly fail not only you but those you love more than life itself. You don't know how it feels to know your body tried to kill your own children. You don't have those memories of needing someone with you at all time, because if she was born now, you wanted someone else to witness her life, no matter how short.  You don't know the guilt of the little nervous laughter because it was the only way you could avoid a complete mental breakdown.  You don't know the pain when you think of how you will have to explain all this to her one day, praying she will understand and be able to forgive you.

So if you are looking for a way to help today, and other, for your safety, don't tell me to look on the bright side.  Give me a hug.  Pass the tequila.  Hand me some chocolate.  Buy me a coffee.  Just sit.  Knowing that you can't possibly understand what I've been through or where I'm coming from.  And you don't want to.