I want it to go away. I want to stay here, stay now. I'm not ready to leave 2011 yet.
Because 2011 was the only year that held my baby girl. It was the only year that she lived . . . and she didn't even live all of it.
2012, I'm not ready for you. Let me stay here, where my daughter's memory is fresh. Where I can still remember what it felt like to carry her inside me, to hold her body in my arms. To touch the smoothness of her cheeks, the soft down of her forehead. Please.
I don't want to leave this year -- because leaving 2011 feels like it means leaving her.
I can't do that.
And I know that she's not here with me right now anyway. That she's as dead today as she will be tomorrow.
Still. That doesn't matter. I'm not ready to jump into a whole new year. The first year without her.
Especially when I remember what today was supposed to be. Today I should have been mere days away from being able to give birth safely. These were supposed to be the last few weeks of swollen expectation before I got to hear her cry for the first time. Weeks of nesting. Excitement. Joy upon joy upon joy.
And now -- none of that. I expect only tears, a shattered heart. Instead of joy, doubt upon doubt. Fear. Anger. Anxiety.
I know that there is God, that He does not want me to live and fester in these wounds, to not stumble forward. I know.
And I know that He turns things around. He has already done this, in 2011 even (ah, another reason to stay). In March I found myself suddenly free from the bondage of seventeen years of an eating disorder. I can see no other explanation for this than that He stepped in to bathe me in His healing.
Then I discovered the joys of art-making, and dizzying amazement when I saw that my body was home to another soul than my own. And from there, He taught me love outside of myself. How to eat like a human being, how to live in gratitude. He taught me more about Himself, showing me just how unreservedly He loves us -- loves me. He showed me what it is to live in community, and what a healthy marriage feels like. He enlarged my heart and my family. He gave me the sisters I had always dreamed of. He made me a mother.
It's been a good year.
Even with Eve's death, it's been good. God continues to teach me. I am learning how to be broken-hearted with ones who need it. How to love with His kind of love. What it means that He is a rock, unshakeable.
2011 has been good. The best year of my life. Even with the loss -- perhaps especially with the loss.
I don't want to leave. I can't go. I'm not ready yet.
2012 is too much. It is filled with dead hopes, and the ever-fading memory of my dead daughter. The thought that it could ever be spring again is offensive, abhorrent to me.
I am desperate to stay here. The future is too dark.
"This very moment is the only one you know you have for sure."