Anyone who really knows me knows that the loss of my daughter Kennedy is the biggest part of me. I refuse to apologize for that. Just loving your child is all consuming in itself. I love my son with almost what I would describe as a fierceness. Like, a constant, grand rapids, worry so much it drives me crazy, strong as a hurricane kind of fierce. Loving AND missing your child though is different. It is impossible to actually describe because there weren’t words made up for it it because it is literally unfathomable. I wish it on no one. The guilt is worst part. Any mother who ever loved their child, knows guilt. That painful stab when you see their sleeping faces and realize instantly they deserve better than you because you weren’t perfect that day. One look at that innocent face and you flash back to your entire day and every harsh word. You’d do anything to take it all back and start over but instead you can only sit and cry as you try to fix what you’ve certainly broken by holding them while they sleep in your arms oblivious their mom could ever even think they were a failure. Well, I actually did fail. In the biggest way a mother can. I let my daughter die. I did not save her. I really did screw up in the worst imaginable way and I can’t even tell her how sorry I am. This guilt is ugly. The dark places my mind has taken me could send a therapist to therapy. Mostly though, I just miss her. I think that is the biggest thing people don’t understand. When your child dies, it is different than any other person in your life. There is no healing or moving on because no matter how much time goes on, she is my daughter and my love for her is just as strong now as it was the day she was born. It always will be until the day I die. My mind knows she isn’t here, but my heart cannot accept that. I still search for her. Everywhere. And I do find her, for she is everything that is beautiful and amazing in this world. It’s never enough though. They say that time heals all wounds. Bulls***. Time is a thief. And a fickle one at that. I woke up last week and realized I couldn’t remember her laugh. I can remember every second of my failed CPR attempt but I cannot remember the sound of my own happiness? I remember the joy I felt when I heard it, but I cannot for the life of me remember the sound. Someone please explain THAT one with “everything happens for a reason”. I don’t suggest doing it within arms reach though. Eight years ago I laid my first child down and kissed her goodnight. I was so full of love and hope and pride and peace because life was perfect. I had finally found my happy. I remember looking at her while choking back tears and thanking God for her. Two hours later she was dead. That is not something you heal from. Ever. I will always be too sensitive about all things Kennedy because my heart aches constantly from her absence. I will always be short-tempered because of the underlying rage from the unfairness of her death. I will always say exactly how I feel because small talk is foreign to me now. And I will always be cautious to let anyone too close for fear of breaking my already shattered heart. It is so fragile that the littlest hurt can crack it wide open all over again. I don’t have the time it takes to mend it back together many more times. It does get lonely, but I’m used to it by now. I just grab the tissues “talk” to my little girl by writing her letters of my agony here without her. I have come to realize that in my darkest and most painful moments, I feel the closest to her though. I don’t imagine that she knows how sad I am but it’s almost as if her perfect soul reminds my weary tattered soul that this separation is only temporary. Knowing that death is the only chance I have of peace from this pain and finding comfort in that is just one of the many horrors of losing your child. Take it or leave it, this is who I am. I am a broken person who does her best to stay sane for a little boy who thinks she’s perfect. He is my reason in this backwards world. Thank you for reading.