Five Years

Our little daughter, Ellis Jane, was stillborn five years ago today.

There's a lot I remember in clear detail from that day.  Which stories were on the news, the way my fingers quickly swelled after giving birth, the smell of the knitted cap and sweater they dressed Ellis in.  Then there's so much that's a complete blur.  I don't remember the correct order of events...what rooms I was in, tests they did, or when Eric arrived.  I don't remember the weather that day even though I had a wall of windows in my room.  I don't remember the name or face of the nurse who took such good care of me during my stay.

Five years later, I find it so strange that even the biggest events of our lives, the ones that hurt and change us the most, eventually dull and fade like all the rest.  And there's so much to say, or not say, about losing Ellis, that I always struggle with where to start or end.  There's just too much jumbled in my mind to put down in
words.

All I know is that Ellis' existence has become a regular part of our lives.  It's no longer a sharp shock of pain to think of what happened.  And although I have so many regrets surrounding the days leading up to her birth, I also know that the current course of our lives would not be the same without what happened.  I no longer wish to turn back the hands of time to change the past.  That would mean wishing away everything we've built since losing her.

I look at Madeline and feel so lucky for all that I have.  Soon we'll be adding another child to love to our family if all goes well.  And I know it's because of my experiences with Ellis that I appreciate every kick, squirm, and roundness of my belly just a little bit more than I did five years ago.

Thank you, sweet Ellis for how you've helped be grow as a mother and as a person.  I'll always carry you in my heart.