Saturday, July 3, 2010


You wouldn't know it from this blog, but most of the time I am okay, or at least come off that way. People tell me all the time that they are amazed that I'm so strong. They tell me they couldn't have made the decision we made out of love, that they couldn't have held themselves together so well for their living children. Sometimes I even believe them. Although when I do it is with the guilty feeling that I should feel worse. But tonight has shown me something. (nothing is wrong - just in my head)

I am incredibly fragile.

My faith that things will work out, that the world is fair, has been shattered. My belief that everyone I love will wake up in the morning is gone. It has become a mantra in my head, "Kira is breathing, Kira is breathing." I try very hard to not let this show. I try to not be overprotective, or clingy. I mostly succeed. But days like this make me realize that I am not strong. I am only one breath away from not living anymore. One breath contained in the tiny body of a precocious, beautiful, loving little 4 year old girl. My baby is sick, and I can't make her better, and for some reason that leads to constant thoughts of how I would deal with her dying. She's not very sick - just a somewhat high fever, and a very red eye that is worrisome. She'll be okay. But now I know that sometimes they are not okay. Sometimes they just stop breathing and no one ever knows why. I feel like Bluebeard's wife. I looked behind the locked door and now I can never erase that knowledge from my head.

I have to go check on my heart again. And figure out a way to get some sleep tonight.


  1. I know how that feels. I feel it every time my daughter takes her skateboard out, or goes on the bus I call incessantly. And my son? He is my shadow, but I too know that sometimes people just don't wake up. Another gift of grief, you KNOW you can't live in fear, but you HAVE to.

  2. I remember reading something that a woman wrote about when her daughter told her that she and her husband were going to try to get pregnant. The daughter said that she knew they were giving up sleeping in and the ease of traveling, etc., but that they were ready. The mother said that what she wanted to tell her daughter was that having a child wasn't so much the late nights or the early mornings, but that the hardest part is having your heart walk around outside of your body for the rest of your life.

    Your post reminds me so much of that. I'm so sorry for your pain and fear. What I miss most about my youth was my naivete, my lack of fear. I can't even begin to imagine how hard the blow to your youth/naivete was with your son.

    Thanks for your comforting words about my headache. I really, really appreciate it!

  3. i am constantly terrified that my husband will die.

    i also am terrified that my friend's baby will die.

    i have no answers on how to deal with it. but what you are feeling is perfectly, absolutely normal.

    sending hugs xxxxx

  4. I hope that Kyra is feeling better. After what you have gone through, there is no way for life not to feel this fragile. Hang in there Jen.

  5. I'm so sorry, Jen, that you have to fear for your daughter's life because she is sick-- It isn't fair that the loss of a baby affects everything else in life. As if you haven't suffered enough over the loss of Aiden, it also has to color the rest of your life and relationships. It's rotten and unfair. As fragile as you feel, the fact that you acknowledge these feelings makes you a strong person in my book.