She Is Not Yours

She is not yours

insidious intimation intra lines of devastation

a statement left unspoken wrapped in clinical verbosity

“your daughter’s brain is injured”

{and I fear she is not yours}

every breath another question, until mind and breath succumbed…

as if interrogation could rescue us from our strangling new reality

all of them asked and answered,

save one a depth below our despair … she is not yours??

we sat betrayed and battered and mourned a promised life

Natalie, breakfast, diaper, bottles, chores, work…

New doctors new questions

and then we quibble about the name:

“well, we don’t want to call it that

{on the chance she is not yours}.”

we learn that fear cuts through a professional’s mask

and now we know the face

“she is not yours”

it spins and wrythes against the weakening restraints of denial

struggles, until it is silenced

silenced by the smiles and laughter of sisters

dismissed as irrelevant

fearless is their example

…a fearless life…

we spend our courage to embrace that joy

and as we smile and laugh and hug and dance we say no.

no, fear, she is not yours.

she is ours

and she is loved.

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Guilt

Unfortunately for those that follow this blog, this is where I go to share the feelings and thoughts that I am not ready or able to share with my voice.  My positive and happy moments I wear on my face and use to greet the world. The positive side is all I can voice right now.  Through this entry I am hoping to find some clarity and I hope this release will help me connect deeper with my daughter.

I go through the motions of the daily care for Cara.  Feeding, diapers, comforting, play time, exercises etc… Just like any mother, my heart skips a beat when she smiles, I get that warmth all over when she rubs her face on my chest to cuddle deeper and I laugh at her squeals, giggles and collection of silly and happy noises. A part of my heart is hers.  I would give my life for her without a thought.  I wish on every star that I could take the needles, medication, pain, seizures, therapy, any and all struggles for her. I love her beyond words. But, there is something in the way.  I feel like she is just out of my reach.  I can’t connect with her on a level that I do with Natalie.  This makes me feel something that is a thousand times worse than the constant pain. Guilt.

I see other 9 month old babies and I feel sad. Guilt.  I want to talk about how Cara will dance, play sports, school, college but I don’t. Guilt. I can’t bring myself to pray for my daughter. Guilt. I can’t jump into the feelings of hope. Guilt. I can’t completely open up to my beautiful baby girl because I don’t know how long she will be with me. GUILT.

I want to believe and bury myself in the belief that Cara will live a long life.  I want to have a fire inside fueled with the belief that Cara will out live me and she will beat this.  I see this fire in the eyes of many parents in a similar or worse situation. I want that flame.  I want at least a spark. I want to stop the nightmares.  I don’t want to be haunted by this fear of hearing a life expectancy.  Guilt.

I constantly question if I can do more, if I should be doing more, if there is anything more. I want MORE for Cara. When I sit and interrogate myself I always conclude that I am doing all that I can and that she is in the perfect place. With Dan as her father, Natalie as her sister and me as her mother. Her family. Home.

Why the questioning?

Why the conflicting thoughts?

Why the holding back?

Why the guilt?

Why do I feel this way?

All questions that I know the answers to but don’t have the strength to accept those answers.

The hardest feeling that I have been struggling with for months now is that I can’t pray for Cara.  I can’t even go to church.  I have tried and after a few seconds I break down and I can’t go on. I feel like I have been staying fairly strong but I crack the minute I drop to my knees and my hands come together.  I know why this is happening.  I am not ready to share why I can’t pray, not now anyway.  I am asking for all of you to please pray for her.  Pray for her for me.  Say the prayer that a mother says to save her child. I feel selfish for asking this.  I feel selfish to ask others to pray for me.  I just can’t and Cara needs it.

Guilt.