You start crying again... I went to kinko's today, because I had gotten my doctor to lend me the u/s pictures from the last ultrasound when Shannon was alive (Friday) and the one where we found out that she had died (the following Thursday). I wanted copies of the photos - good copies, I don't know why, maybe I am a masochist, maybe I just need them because they were pictures of her when she was alive or something. I don't know. They came out pretty good, but maybe I will try the kinkos that does the photo scanning instead to see if I can do better. I spoke to a researcher on cord accidents last Saturday, and he offered to look at the photos for me and I can't send him originals, but I want to send him decent photos in the hopes that he might see something of note that confirms what we are all thinking happened. There is one where I am pretty sure (in my lay opinion) that you are seeing the shadow of the cord right around her neck, but maybe it is that hindsight thing or a wishful thinking thing. It is kinda like the photographs in The Omen, where you can see the shadow of the guy getting impaled with the stake in the church yard before it happens.
Maybe life imitates art because my life sure has become quite a bit of a horror movie of late.
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I am not saddened by Shannon's heart shaped box anymore but the room that was to be her nursery has been added (along with the basement), to the rooms that I don't like to go in anymore. Seeing the pretty ceiling fan, and the cool green color and, most of all, the baby furniture, hurt. It is the same damn furniture that was in there before and the same furniture we used with my son, but now it seems like it is Shannon's furniture and she will never live in that room. Or it is baby furniture that may never get used by a baby again. And it just hurts.
Someone on my support board said that this whole process is like a roller coaster. You never know when you are going to hit a dip. This evening has turned into quite a dip for me. Most of my ride has been smooth lately, but seeing those u/s pictures, and reading the report calling my daughter a "fetal demise" and noting how much she had grown between Friday and when she died (just 5 or 6 days later) really hurts. She was doing just fine, growing and doing all the crap that babies are supposed to do, except for whatever happened to her that killed her. Man, the sucking never seems to stop.
And life goes on... people move on... and new people suffer the same loss that I did and I offer them comfort, because I know how much it sucks. And I feel like the stronger one again, because well, it could be worse, it could be three weeks ago, when we found out she was gone.
Tomorrow is three weeks since I last heard my little baby's heartbeat. Wednesday morning, February 6th. I listened extra long, because I just did, and I am glad I did. If I had known that it was the last time I'd ever know her as my living baby, I never would have gotten out of that bed that day. I would have run the batteries out on that stupid doppler spending every second with my little girl before she was gone.
But, the past is the past, but it is my reality. It is my future that is scarier, because we don't know what is going to happen with the next pregnancy, or if there will be a next one whereas I already know what happened with my other ones - good and bad.
Do we cling to the past because we miss and mourn what is gone, or do we cling to the past because it is easier to deal with what we know than what we don't?
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