the word is not the thing

i've been trying to come up with the words for how i'm feeling; i've been trying to figure out how i feel so i can write a proper post to commemorate the second birthday of my dead daughter. i can't. i can't so i will just write and see what happens.

so far, the anticipation has been the worst part of any kind of day-that-should-have-been, and this time, it hasn't been the worst. two weeks ago, i watched soulmate friend's baby for a week- the one that was living in her belly as she sat by my hospital bed while i waited to birth a dead one. husband cried a couple of nights, after they were all in bed, about the reminder of what he should have. "i can't see that baby and not remember what they pulled out of you," is what he said.



for a week i thought of what could have been, experienced it, kinda. kinda, because she wasn't paige. paige is gone.

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god, i'm at a loss.

what do i feel? i feel like i've lost it, lost that raw, bitter taste of grief. is it because i'm all better? i think probably it's more like i want to be done. i'm tired of the pain.

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my sister found out last week that she's pregnant again. she had a miscarriage while i was pregnant with paige, then she got pregnant and had a baby who turned one on the first of this month. i planned and catered his birthday party. i thought of what could have been, experienced it, kinda. kinda, because it wasn't a party for paige. paige is gone.

my sister called me yesterday and told me she was bleeding. more babydeath? we won't know for a few days, but if this baby dies, why not this week? i can't take anymore. i want her to be done, i want her to get pregnant and have her second child and be done so we can just move on and enjoy our families together. i want the fuck out of reproduction, directly and indirectly.

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we've been trying to figure out what to do today. we'll probably take the kids to dinner, just to do SOMETHING. i'll start those mimosa tree seeds today in big pots like i wanted to last year. should i bake another cake? i don't know, it just feels strange. everything feels strange.

the only thing i've been sure of is that i would come to this place and tell the truth of this day. here i am, except, after all the thinking and thinking, i still am not sure how to properly tell it. are there words at all for this?

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we didn't bury paige. i didn't buy her a headstone. i don't have a place to bring flowers, and it shocks me that i've yearned for a place to go.

over the last two years, i've been creating a place to remember paige. flesh therapy. three months after she was born, i started getting her headstone tattooed on my arm. i thought of her and my pain while the needle buzzed and vibrated. she's in there, intermingled with the ink and my flesh.



after a while, i thought it was cold. i wanted LIFE. i wanted to bring her flowers. it was finished last wednesday, just in time. (still peeling a little, like a sunburn would.)









when i began the process two years ago, i thought it would be a way to talk about paige all the time, when anyone asked about it or commented on it. it's actually been the opposite. very few people know what the tattoo really is- a grave. this is for ME, and i carry it, i carry her. it is death, and it is life.

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two years.

two years since my charmed life has been turned upside-down.

i can't exactly say that upside-down isn't better than what it was before.

paige's death has caused me the worst pain i've ever experienced. her death has changed my life. she taught me so, so many things, and for that i am grateful to her. how can her death be the worst and the best thing that's ever happened to me? her LIFE was the best thing that ever happened to me, because, you know, she actually EXISTED. her death, well, she's a part of me forever.

paige, thank you for teaching me about life.