You know, I often question when things will finally start to get better. I had this false sense of hope that in a year's time, things would magically be so much easier. I've only found recently that that's not the case.
The heartache is still very much alive in me. Even as I sit here and stare at Allie, the pain is there.
I don't know if it's just the realization that I will never feel complete - ever - until the day I'm able to hold Cameron in my arms again. If it's the just raw, emotional pain of knowing that my baby boy is gone. It's probably a lot of both. It's very surreal - even still.
Sometimes, when I'm driving in my car, I remember everything that has actually happened to us, and I'll close my eyes and shake my head. Almost as if I'm trying to shake away this horrible memory. I still cannot believe it happened to us. Then, reality hits me, and I have this immense feeling of pain go through me. Not physical pain, but a pain that cuts so deep into your heart, that it takes your breath away.
I stare at his little footprints on the little crystal that is hanging from my review mirror. Honestly, looking at those tiny feet and those precious toes, is the only thing that can make everything all better for me in that moment. I don't know why, but it makes me smile. I think because I know that's what he would want, and I know that he's right here with me.
You know what else is so incredibly hard? I pulled out the pregnancy tests that I have in his box from when i first found out I was pregnant with him. I can't describe what goes through my head when i look at them. I stare at those two pink lines - the lines that told me I had a precious baby boy growing so happily inside of me. They are one of the few things I have, besides his foot/hand prints, that shows that he really was here with us. God, how I wish I could turn back time. Go back to that day when I first found out I was pregnant. I was sooooo happy! I never dreamed, in a million years, what was to come.
Then I go back to blaming myself. The night before, Chev and I had a birthday party to go to. I took a dollar tree pregnancy test before we left, just to make double sure that I wasn't pregnant, incase I wanted to drink. I took it, and to my disappointment, it looked just as the one the day before did. Blank.
So, we went to the party, and I ended up drinking almost an entire 6 pack of froo-froo girlie drinks. I specifically remember going to the bathroom with my cousin, and when we walked out, I looked at her and said, "Oh shit...Katie. I think I'm pregnant.". Now why I said this, I have no idea. But I stopped drinking for the rest of the night.
The next morning, I woke up and went to the bathroom. For whatever reason, I decided to pull that test out I had taken the night before. I looked at it and had to blink several times. Right there, in front of me, in the spot that looked 100% blank the night before, was a faint pink line. So, of course, I took another one, and sure enough....a light pink line showed up. Why didn't it show up the night before?! I freaked a little, but reminded myself that women sometimes don't even find out they're pregnant until 3 months or so, and in that time, they continue to do things they always did. They end up with healthy pregnancies.
Long story short, I think that's where my guilt comes from. I have to wonder if that one night of selfish enjoyment is what caused my sweet little boy's demise. What if me drinking did something to weaken the amniotic sac - or maybe it was the cause of his umbilical cord covering not being attached to the placenta. The Dr. said that factor wasn't a huge concern, because they see it often, but I still just look at is as another thing that was wrong with the way my body created his little home. The things that were supposed to give him life, support him, and nourish him, were faulty. I blame myself for that. He was perfect. He was healthy. I failed him.
I've just been having a hard time lately...