I spent time thinking of Sybella, especially her little hands, and I have stroked Jack's little toes, a larger version of Sybella's. I looked at Sybella's photos, just born, sleeping peacefully and ached for her. I worried for her. I wondered about her last moments. Was she scared, did she fight and struggle for her life or did she just go to sleep and not wake up? I freeze at the thought that she might have been scared and alone, wondering what was happening, while I, her mother, was probably doing something trivial like folding laundry or picking up toys, completely unaware that my daughter was dying.
I say to Kelvin that I wonder what today would have been like if she were here, like she should be, 5 weeks old (if she'd been born at term). I'd be breastfeeding, and probably reprimanding Jack to be gentle with his sister as he tried to pick her up. I'd be exhausted and sleep deprived, and knee-deep in laundry, snapping at Kelvin, most likely. As you do when you are overwhelmed by the day to day. It probably doesnt paint a pretty picture, the ordinary suburban predictability of a young family. But right now, it seems like bliss. I want boring, I want suburban, I want predictable. I want to be the quintessential mother, married, one son, one daughter who's biggest worry is what to make for dinner and how we will pay the car insurance. I dont want to be different, I dont want to stand out.
I dont want to be someone who's baby has died. But I am. For the rest of my life.
I just miss her. Sybella. I just miss her.