I don't know if this was torturing myself, but I got the idea in my head that I would buy some Christmas things to donate to the giving tree at work. The instructions said to label the gifts with the age and (if appropriate) gender of the child the gift would be suitable for. Here, let me imagine a hypothetical child who I wish I was buying a Christmas gift for. She's about to turn two, and apart from her curly dark brown hair, that's all I know about her. I'm not sure I can successfully combine my grief for Z, my desperate hankering for her to be here, with the altruism that Christmas giving really requires. All the same, at least this way of remembering her, of showing my love for her, has some benefit for a child who needs it. Yet it spikes my heart that a living child will get to use these things while Z never will.
The girls helped me pick out two things - a little navy and white striped summer playsuit and a fisher price pull-along telephone - ubiquitous toy of doctors waiting rooms and kinders. I was amazed they are still making them. Yay nostalgia. Buying things was hard. Leaving them there under the Christmas tree was harder. It still shocks me that this happened to us, that I have a daughter, but she died. I can't manage to pat this grief into any kind of shape today.
lost in translation - We sat across from her, an arrangement of flowers and a small analog clock sitting on the table between us. She was young, only a few years older than m...
6 hours ago