2 months

2 months - time has slowed down.  It seems like it has been longer than that.  Being pregnant seems like a fantasy that existed long ago.  It's like a ghost of myself lived in an alternate universe, grew a baby for 40 long weeks, gave birth, then my ghost-self and the baby both disappeared...vanished in thin air. 

Today, on the two-month anniversary of Quinn’s arrival, I think of the life I should be living with her in the real world.  Today, I should be taking Quinn's 2-month photo, and planning how she would be posed.  This would be a photo that marked the quintessential chubby cheeks of a 2 month old.  My favorite, though, would be her soft, chubby upper arms and biceps.  It's funny how counting time is universally a mom thing – it doesn’t matter if your baby is alive or dead.  For most, proud mama's take a picture of their baby with a marker of the baby's age in months.  This is something I shared with other moms during R's first year, and a monthly tradition that I looked forward to.  So in honor of the 2-month photo of Quinn marking everything perfectly chubby, I post this photo instead.  This is how I now count time: instead of marking months of her life, I count months since her death.  

Over the past two months, I find myself wondering what the bigger tragedy is: for Quinn to die in the only world she knew - without touching her mother's skin, without suckling, or without feeling her mother's embrace.  Or, is the greater tragedy to have experienced my warm embrace, to have felt my undying love, to have gazed into my eyes, and then die?  I am so deeply sad for her that she died in the only world she knew, and never got a chance to feel me wrap my heart around her.

This dilemma brings me back to an essay prompt I answered for the GRE's nearly 10 years ago: Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?  I wonder what my younger self said as a response.  For me now, I have learned it is better to have loved and lost, which makes Quinn's death unbearable.  Did she know our love?  Did she feel it?  Did she love?  Or did she die never knowing love?  Can you feel love without ever experiencing physical touch?  Can you know love when you live in a world by yourself? 

I think this tugs at the root of my grief.  I loved her so much and I was so ready to celebrate her life.  I had all of this love but never got a chance to show it.  I never knew that she knew how much I loved her.  I wish I had a chance to tell her and show her.  She never got a chance to love me.  She never experienced the blessing of feeling love and loving others...or did she?