Monday, October 3, 2011

Three Years Ago.

Three years ago, baby girl, you left and my world crumbled. I thought, on that day, that I had hit rock bottom. I was wrong. Rock bottom came later. Months later. Possibly years later. Rock bottom came in the crying and the grieving and the depression and the PTSD. It came in the flashbacks and the never ending questioning and the anger. Rock bottom came, and it went, and through all of it you were there, your little spirit guiding me in that way you always do, and we survived.

I can't think about that day without second guessing every-single-decision that we made on your behalf. If the right decisions had been made, wouldn't you still be here?

This year feels different than the last two. The first anniversary of your death was like dying all over again. Last year I remember laying in bed with your siblings floating in my big belly, and crying until I felt I couldn't breathe. I begged them at the time to understand. I explained to them that there are tears that will always come for you. For what you went through and never got to experience and your beautiful little unlived life. This year I find myself treading water, trying with all my might to not go there, not because you aren't missed. Not because I love you any less. But because I have these two little beings here who are dependant on me. They learn everything from me, the good and the bad, and I don't want them to know at 7 months about a level of darkness that it took me 28 years to be exposed to.

I am trying to think of the right words here. The ways to tell you that I think of you constantly. You never leave my mind. My thoughts. My heart. I have your picture on the window sill in the family room, and every day, every-single-day I look at it trying to remember how you smelled, to breathe in that sweet minty smell that was you, and to recall your features. When I went through your box the other day, I was struck by how absolutely tiny your hands were. How could someone with such a huge personality have been so tiny? But you were... weren't you? Too tiny to fight such a giant's battle, but you did, and with a level of grace far beyond your years, and one that I can only strive to ever live up to.

I wish I had the strength to be an advocate for you. I see so many parents lose their children to cancer and they trudge forward honoring them by raising funds and awareness. Truth be told, when I hear about childhood cancer, I curl up inside myself. I retreat. I run scared. I feel ill, and struggle not to be flashed back there. To the helplessness. To the horrors. I was so scared Peyton. Every moment of your life I was scared. And in over my head. When you came into this world, I didn't even know how to bathe a baby, and yet I was being asked to make decisions regarding treatment plans and chemotherapy. It was too much.

If I had it to do all over again, knowing what I know now, I think I would have pushed to birth you naturally. Even knowing that your little body wouldn't have survived it. I just can't help but to feel that in some way, sparing you of all of it would have been kinder. I wish you hadn't had to feel one needle stick. One test. One spinal tap. One surgery. I wish you had been spared, instead floating painlessly from this life to the next. Someday, when I leave this world and we are reunited, I hope to make this all up to you. I like to think we will be in some beautiful field somewhere, with the sun shining, the birds singing, and the clouds floating over, and I will hold you in my arms, watch the light dance across your face, and rock and rock and rock you, until we both feel whole again.

I love you.

Momma

18 comments:

  1. She is here, and she will be there. I must believe that once you get to her again you will be granted the opportunity to rock her until your broken heart is mended. I love the new blog, but even more, I love when you share new photos of Peyton! Love and hugs and more love.

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  2. So beautifully written. I lost my 5 month old son 3 yrs ago tomorrow. I look up to you. You are so strong. Praying for you today! Much love mama. Rip sweet peyton!!

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  3. thinking of you and peyton today, sending much love to you....

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  4. I am in tears as I put myself in your place 3 years ago, 2 years ago, a year ago, today.

    And though it may not count, I see you as an advocate for Peyton. COMPLETELY. When you said you were not, I simply do not believe you.

    I also think you are very strong. And I am supporting you today of all days.

    XO

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  5. I am thinking of you, keeping you in my heart and hoping you know, beyond a doubt, that you are being comforted by so many hands. Rest dear Peyton and know you had the best mommy here in this life and the after.
    xoxo

    p.s your blog looks beautiful

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  6. ((HUGS)) Holding you close in my heart.

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  7. No words. Just a heavy heart. You are truly a strong person. Your love for Peyton and all that you DO for her is evident in your writing. Always remembering Peyton and her brave fight!

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  8. tears for you and your loved ones Peyton has given many blessed life lessons. x

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  9. I am so sorry for the pain you feel. I have the same questions and regrets everyday. We had to make decisions that no parent should ever have to make also, each and everyday I question if the choices we made were the right ones. I had to read this blog twice, the first time was blury from my tears...I have so many of the same feelings and hopes as you. You have the words and ability to put them onto paper. Thank you so much for being so vulnerable and sharing with us all, you help more than you may ever understand.

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  10. I stumbled across your blog awhile ago and was struck how much your brave Peyton looked like my son (who was born premature around 5 lbs). He survived, but because of that ordeal I empathize with the fears/guilt you discuss on this blog. I want you to know that through this blog, you are a wonderful advocate for Peyton. So much so that today, as I strolled my little miracle around the park, I saw a butterfly and thought of her beautiful little soul. God bless you and all of your babies today and always.

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  11. Holding you close in my thoughts and prayers on this day my friend and honoring Peyton's memory with you.

    I appreciate where you are coming from reflecting on what you might have done differently. It is so hard and painful to remember and wonder about. I believe that we make the best decisions we can, with the information we have at the time. It isn't easy, but over the years since we lost Molly and our other angel babies, I have tried to accept and make peace with that.

    Thank you for sharing so openly and candidly with all of us right where you are today. You are truly a wounded healer and have helped so many other bereaved mothers through writing about your experience living through grief, loss and rainbows after the storm. xoxo

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  12. Thinking of you, Kristen and sweet, sweet Peyton. I believe you are an amazing advocate for your precious daughter.

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  13. My heart breaks for you. Having a baby and knowing that bond that is truly unexplainable to someone who hasnt experienced. I cant imagine what you went through, what you go through, and what you will go through.

    Im so so sorry.

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  14. Thinking of you and sweet Peyton.

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  15. So beautifully written. It truly made me cry, for all you have been and are going through, for all that Peyton went through. For all that other families have been and are going through dealing with children's and babies' cancer and loss. One day you will be together again, and it will be more beautiful than you can even imagine. I am sure of that. Hugs, hugs, hugs, Anna

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  16. Kristin, I tried to comment last night & couldn't. I'm so sorry that Peyton is gone and so sorry for your pain and hers that she went through. I know the hurt and longing is part of your daily life. We just learn to cope with it. What a precious child, what a brave soul she was. Love to all of you. xoxo

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  17. xo lovely Peyton.

    Kristin, 2 years ago you came into my light and showed me so much love and kindness.
    I am sorry that Peyton is no longer with you. I am happy to have met you...just the circumstances could have been better.

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