March 7, 2007: New Reality, New Maternity

My reality is this:
I kiss and hold a photograph of my daughter.  I kiss and caress the bag which holds her ashes.  I kiss and smell my daughter's blankets and birth hat.

I thank my daughter for her presence as I feel her everywhere.

I hold a bit of guilt about this situation and what it means to be a parent of a deceased child--the conflicting thoughts that race through my head about moving on and having another child, not going back to work right now and the world around me forgetting.

I am afraid of forgetting.

I do not want to forget.  I want to always cherish Nora as my first child and honor her.
We are a family.

I continue telling myself that even though she is not here physically does not diminish her place in our family as our child; our love made of love.

I do not want our world to forget that we are parents of Nora, parents to her future siblings.  And even though we will conceive again, we never will forget to hold Nora in our daily movements and intention.

This time is my time to raise myself.  To be okay stumbling to learn this new rhythm of parenting a child that is not physically present yet the lessons are just as deep and meaningful.

This is my reality.
This is my maternity.