7 Months

I imagine she would look like me, with blonde curls and wide eyes full of curiosity.
She would have my tender heart and her daddy's tough spirit. She would be reckless and dangerous, just like her father, which would give her mother a heart attack.
She would have the best giggle, and her smile would light up a room.
She would be a daddy's girl, with a soft spot for her mama.
She would be stubborn and opinionated but with a charm that got her out of any trouble, just like her daddy had.
She would be able to melt my heart.
She would be my world.
Cam would walk with her when she cried, colicky during the night, letting me sleep between feedings. His eyes would be bloodshot when I found him in the morning, but she would be sleeping on his chest, and he would have a smile on his face.
We would live in a little trailer, barely scraping by, but living off of love.
I can't imagine my life being more complete than it would be if I was with them.


But here's the thing, I'm not with them. For 7 long months I haven't been waking up for midnight feedings or holding our girl or watching her grow up in front of my eyes and seeing she has a great dislike for green beans but loves mixed berries. My acts of parenting have been reduced to these: sobbing into my pillow in the wee hours of the morning, her ashes sitting on my bookshelf. I held her once (for a few minutes) and I dressed her (In an outfit that was much too big for her tiny body, as we never expected her to be born so small) and we burned her (ashes to ashes, dust to dust) and I cried (all I know of her is grief)
And here's the crazy thing, I wouldn't take any of it back. I wouldn't trade any of the tears or the pain because those few moments I got with her (that didn't seem long enough), they were magical.
It's 7 months out and this time around I felt like my body remembered before my mind did. Usually it's the other way around. Usually this date is marked on my calendar, the only day unscheduled, and when the day comes I sit for it, upright, tall, perfect posture, taking a warrior position as if I can fight against the emotional pain that comes along with this day.
I grew tired and cried when I was in the shower or in bed or watching TV or just sitting on the couch. I felt like I was walking around with the flu, though I'm not sick.
And then today came...
My first anniversary alone...
I don't know how this is supposed to work... I'm sitting here, chewing on my lip, trying to decide what to do (I've been terribly indecisive as well, standing in front of the open fridge for nearly half an hour before deciding I want take out), wondering how I am supposed to deal with this day.
I'm not there to hold my girl or kiss her face or watch her grow up.
He's not here to share it with me, to hold me while I cry, to remember her too
So I do the only thing I know how to do
I let the tears fall (Grief is all I have left of them) and I pull her ashes out from behind the stack of books I'd purposefully set there so I didn't have to look at them every day and remember what I lost, and I turn on some music and order that takeout and turn off the phone
And then I fall onto my bed and have a good cry

I miss you, sweet Mia girl. I love you. Happy 7 month birthday