Easter Sunday was not the first holiday since Claire was born, but it was the first holiday that I had expected to share with her. I have a yellow Easter outfit hanging in her closet, and a beautiful daughter who will never wear it.
I’ve noticed that my grief over Claire has begun to shake it’s angry fist at me more and more. I am having more difficulty containing it and more times than not, I feel like I am a bottomless pit of sadness. Somehow just being present in this world feels wrong. Everything I touch, I know Claire cannot. Everywhere I go, Claire is gone. I cry every time I see her crib and wish I knew what it would feel like to put her to bed and watch her sleep.
One place I find some measure of peace is in the glider that I purchased when I was only about 6 weeks along with Claire. When I was pregnant, I spent a lot of time relaxing in it and I would imagine what it would be like holding my daughter, nursing her, and rocking her. Later, when her nursery was assembled, I positioned the glider next to her crib and I would gently rock back and forth and look forward to the day that I could see her asleep through the wooden slats.
It’s my only happy place since losing Claire. Or, as close to happy as I can get in a place I am surrounded by all the hopes, plans and dreams that evaporated when she died. Through out it all, I continue to be amazed by my own daughter’s strength. By the fact that she fought so hard to survive and I find myself sending prayers to her to help me. Claire fought in the face of sure tragedy and I feel like I need to learn to do the same. I hope that one day I can come to peace with our loss, but until then I let whatever emotions are there come to me, confident that there is a process even when I start losing faith that there is a greater plan.
