Sometimes I forget. For just a second, when the ladies at work are talking about their new babies or their growing bellies, I let myself get caught up in the story, and I focus so much on when I experienced that (whatever “that” happens to be), I forget about Olivia. Though I’m not really forgetting about Olivia. I’m just pretending. For their benefit, of course.
It’s been 6 months since we lost her and at moments it still feels as recent as yesterday. I can still see her sweet face, her upturned nose and open mouth like a baby bird waiting to be fed. Her head full of dark brown, what looked to be curly, hair. She’s just as real today as the day she was born. I don’t know what day she died.
I still can’t believe she died.
It’s quite clear I’m going to be okay from all this. I already am. It’s quite clear that I have survived the loss of a child. But it still sounds so alien to hear and to say. I still don’t really relate to the status. Like when I’m talking about Olivia, I’m talking about someone else’s child. Someone else’s loss. Someone else’s tragedy.
I still don’t understand fully how this all works. Yet I’m living, breathing proof that it certainly does.
This life is a mystery I suppose I’ll be solving for the rest of it.
It could’ve been worse.
I still have Lily.
Those are my refrains. What are yours?