…and then I got the forward from the funeral home. Victoria’s grave marker is finished.
This was my worst fear: That I would see her name on a gravestone instead of her school papers. Buried under that marker with my daughter are my hopes and dreams:
A firstborn daughter
Her beautiful name
Ballet lessons
Teaching her to read
Singing “Happy Birthday” to her
Proudly watching her in holiday programs
The sparkle in her eyes
Her personality
Family outings with her
Watching her grow up
This wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that everyone else gets to have their babies, but me. It’s not fair that I was robbed of a joyful pregnancy (even when I do get pregnant again will it be joyful? I will be full of anxiety and worry after this experience). It’s not fair that Victoria didn’t get to really live.
There is nothing I can do. Nothing will make this horrible experience go away. I’ve never felt so helpless in all my life as I have through this experience. Everything bad that has ever happened to me has always had an end. Not this. This will never end. Sure the pain will be less intense years from now, but it will never go away. I am marked by this as surely as Victoria’s beautiful name marks that gravestone. It is chiseled into me.
This was the last thing we were waiting for. Finally, after two months, the legalities are wrapped up. Last month we received her birth certificate (which had DECEASED written in bold letters across it) and death certificate in the same week.
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