Or so they say.
I was starting to believe it,
Finding it easier to live without my daughter.
My first born.
Until I had my son.
My second born.

Before he was born I was able to go through days only thinking about her in passing, occasionally glancing at the photo I have out in my house, not talking about her much, and that was ok.
I visited her grave a little, occasionally took flowers.
I felt like I was moving on, that the baby growing inside me really was healing me.
I was wrong.
Since he was born she’s on my mind more and more.
I know why.
Everything I do with him I should have already done with her 10 months earlier.
This is worsened by the fact that Christmas is coming and I feel nothing but guilt.
Why?
Last year I was impossibly ill with morning sickness at Christmas and all I managed to do for her was to take her a bunch of flowers (that my dad had to go and buy) on Christmas morning.
It was her first Christmas and that was all she got.
My baby’s first Christmas.
This year it’s Jacksons first Christmas and I’m determined to make it special for both of them.

I suppose it’s almost a relief that he hasn’t replaced her, that if anything I love her more.
No.
That’s not possible.
I miss her more because I know what I missed.

Printing photos of Jackson I felt the need to print photos of Effy-Mae, something I had never done.
Had she survived I would have albums and albums of photos of her growing and developing.
She would be 1 year 2 months now.
I would have pages and pages of photos of her smiling, selfies of us together, walking, talking, wearing pretty dresses, eating cake.
I have 200 photos.
I’ll never get any more.

Buying Jackson a teddy for Christmas, I had to buy her one too.
It’s only fair.
Myself and Jackson will take the bear and some flowers to her on Christmas morning.

These things should have happened without thinking in the normal course of life, but it all takes more thought when everything you do is overshadowed with the grief that you’ll never get to see the look on their face when they see what you’ve done.
The pretty flowers I take her will never raise a smile.
She will never smile.
But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t make her grave beautiful.
Shouldn’t spoil her.
Shouldn’t love her.

I just want my daughter.