I realized my last post puts my mind in the ditch.
On Friday, her 2 month mark, I went to the grocery store. I bought her flowers, a bunch of multicolored roses and a bunch of pale pink, almost white, roses.
I baked a banana cake for her. It was delicious.
I bought a candle for her and lit it on Friday night. The scent is called "Pink Sands." It is beautiful.
I thought back to the day of her funeral. I wore a black dress my grandmother bought me, one of about 8 I had to choose from. A black shawl. My feet were so swollen, my belly a deflated, saggy, empty pouch.
I looked at myself in the mirror that morning. I wore berry lipstick, the rest of my face pale--a face that walked the valley of the shadow of death. So pale. My eyes so swollen. It was as if I looked at someone else. I looked at my mouth, my chin, my jawline. It looked just like her face. I looked down at my still swollen hands. They were replicas of hers. Or hers were replicas of mine? My mind swirled.
I hurt from birth. I dragged more than walked. I could smell the cabbage on my skin, from what had been used to try and stop my milk from coming in.
Dave and I walked together, in front of everyone else, broken and clutching each other's hand. I felt like running, screaming, away from my life. I knew there was nowhere to go.
It was a dreary day, with the cold rain pelting us as we walked in the chapel. We drew to Georgiana, to her little casket. She was wearing what would have been her christening gown, the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. She was wearing gold shoes her uncle Clay picked out for her, gold shoes that sat on the table at her baby shower just a little over a month before. A beautiful bonnet. She looked so gorgeous, so...quiet.
She wore a beautiful pink and white blanket her Nana bought her.
Dave had bought her a little pink hippo for Valentines day. It's name was "Big Kiss."
Here is what the tag reads:
"I'm a hippo that's red and pink
I look this way because I think
Of you each and everyday.
I love you more than words can say!"
We tucked it in with her.
I gave her my most prized possession, a little white hankie my dad gave me at my wedding, stained with the joyful tears of nearly three years before when I had prepared to walk down the aisle, to a new and different and exciting life.
I now have another white hankie, from her funeral. I placed the joyful one in with her, tucking it under her right hand. I put a beautiful bracelet on her left hand and a rosary.
I keep the sad hankie now. It looks just like the one I gave her, but it is so very different.
Dave gave her his Iraqi campaign medal, tucked just over her heart. Our brave little soul, going ahead of us, preparing a way for the rest of us.
I felt as if I would collapse during her Mass. I didn't. I died all over again inside.
We walked out to bury her. Her little coffin sat outside, being rained on. There was a fresh hole in the ground. The priest gave me a crucifix for her, so tiny. I stood there and stared at all that was left of my daughter on this earth, a coffin ready to go into the ground. I could not breathe.
I realized everyone else was waiting for me. I stepped forward and put either arm on each side of her coffin, encircling her inside me one last time. I laid my cheek on her coffin. I talked to her. I held her for the last time. I prayed to God.
I willed myself to walk away. If I hadn't made myself, I never would have. I would have begged them to bury me in the ground with her.
How I miss you, my sweet Georgiana.
I have to remember the memories from this day, as there are so few we have now. It is so important, for my beautiful little daughter, for me.
Love of my life.