Living with the memories

After reading through this post, I want to warn you. It's very emotional and a bit depressing. It's also very long. I almost didn't post it. But the idea of putting my thoughts in some Word document made me mad. I don't care if this is emotional and depressing, its how I feel. I also wanted everyone to know that I'm not superwoman. Yes, I do feel strong most of the time, but I'm not strong because the Lord has made this easy for me. It's hard, harder than I can ever say. I'm strong because I have to go on and the Lord knows that so He gives me enough strength to carry my burden. But it doesn't take away the pain. So I wanted to warn you, if you don't want to cry, don't read this post.
I've debated a lot about posting my struggles. In a lot of ways, I feel like they are mine and mine alone. I was Adria's mom. But I know that everyone around me is struggling too, in their own ways with their own struggles. I don't want this blog to become depressing or focus solely on our loss, but it very much is a part of our lives right now. Someday I want Julia to look back and know that she missed her sister. I know she won't remember much about her time with Adria, and that breaks my heart. So I've started writting down her memories as she tells them to me.
Tonight I miss my baby girl so much. I can't help but write about it. I'm not looking for sympathy or answers, I just want to say what is on my mind.
I have a hard time letting people know how much I miss her. I'm afraid that if I start talking about it, I'll be consumed. And on so many levels I know that nothing I do or say will bring her back to us, so it doesn't matter. But I miss her. I want her back. I know its impossible, but when I look at her pictures or videos or see other little girls playing, it just hurts so much and I know that the only way to stop the hurt would be to have her back. I do know that she still lives. My testimony has never waivered. I just can't help but wish for more time with her.
The night before the accident we stayed in a hotel in St. George. Ben and Julia slept in one bed and Adria and I slept in the other. I think about that night a lot. I can't remember if I held her tight or kissed her goodnight and I hate it. I think I did, I want to believe that I told her I loved her and that she heard me and that she'll still remember that I told her. I know a 3 year old has no idea how much their mother loves them. But I pray every night for Heavenly Father to tell Adria that I love her and I hope that, somehow, she understands now the depth of my love for her.
I can't tell you how scared I am. I don't know how I can go home again. I'll send Ben away to work and send Julia to kindergarten, and then I will be home with only the baby and all the memories of Adria. How do I sit on the couch and remember singing with her just a few weeks ago? How do I open the fridge and not have the milk come crashing down because Adria loved milk and couldn't quite lift it back in? The house will be so painfully, terribly quiet. And I am so afraid of that quiet.
I could go on for hours about all the things I'm going to miss about Adria. She was so alive that it filled our world with life. She was so full of love that we all had more love to give. I tried so hard to understand her, to parent her just right, to let her be herself. I feel like I just got it figured out and now she's gone.
I haven't been back to the cemetary since the funeral. I can't. I haven't even let myself think about it because I feel so awful inside when I think that my baby is locked in a box and trapped under all that dirt. Yes, I know she isn't there. Yes, I know she's happy and free and loved in heaven. But none of that changes the fact that I had to bury her sweet curly hair and her soft chubby hands. At the funeral, my brother said to me that he wanted to rip open the casket and shake her awake. That's when I lost control because that's exactly how I felt. If I had had any other options, I would never have let them put my baby in a box. I know that sounds so awful and horrible, but it has been one of my biggest trials.
The biggest trial of course is missing her. Ben and I both miss her more than should be possible. The heart shouldn't have to hurt like this. Sometimes I just sit and look at pictures of her or watch a video of her over and over. I try to memorize every tiny thing about her. I feel like I could just say over and over, "I miss my baby!" but Ben keeps me from losing my mind. His love pulls me back when I start to lose control. I don't think he even realizes it sometimes. He says I do the same for him. Hopefully, together we can stay sane.
I do need to say that these depressing, miserable times are not the norm. For the most part, we are moving forward, carrying the pain tucked inside. We still laugh and play and love our daughters. In fact, I would say we do it more now. Every day with them seems so precious. When Julia comes to talk to me, she always starts with a hug and leaves with a kiss. I never forget to tell her how much I love her. I hold my Kara so much tighter and so often that its no wonder she isn't crawling. My girls have always been my whole world, but now, I want them to know it.
But I do know that every day of my life I will miss my baby girl. I know that every night I'll tell her I love her. I'm still her mom.