People keep telling me not to think about it. They keep making references to “when you get better” and ask me if I’m starting to feel more like myself yet. None of those things are ever going to happen. I have a gaping hole in my being that will never ever be filled. I think that everyone will start to understand me a little better when they start to grasp that concept. I know it’s hard, but I need you to imagine – how would ever “start to feel better” if you knew that you were responsible for your child dying? My body failed my perfect little  five pound, one ounce, eighteen inch long baby girl. And as much as it wasn’t my fault, I am the only one responsible.  

I spent the entire evening looking at pictures of the only time I’ll ever get to hold my first born child, making a memory book instead of writing firsts in a baby book. There’s no room for better here. So please stop referencing this mythical place called better. I need to find solid ground in coping.