Emelina passed away at 38 weeks due to a true knot in combination with her cord wrapped around her neck four times. It rocked my world; her passing left me a shell.
She should be eight years old. She instead is in an urn in our bedroom. The daughter we know nothing about: her likes, her dislikes, or who she should be. This child was planned, celebrated and wanted. She died. And overnight, I as a mom changed.
I struggled to get out of bed. I did not want to be around anyone. I was reminded daily how badly I failed, how badly my body failed me… How could I be a mom when I was failing so badly? I should have known sooner that something was wrong. That is what I felt day in and day out for years.
I went from entertaining large groups of friends and being out of my home working, to not being able leave my home and entertain. I could not hold my nephew (who was born just days after my daughter was born still). I was a career woman; I spent years working to almost achieve my goal. I lost my passion for it. So I quit, after nine years of hard work, sacrifice, and dedication.
I didn’t want to live when she died. I didn’t want to love. I didn’t want to suffer. I wanted to be “normal.” I was angry at life. I was angry at anyone who had not suffered. I was not me, and that was hard. I am still not me.
Waiting on Sunrise 