Three Months Old

Day-to-day existence just doesn’t cut it any more. There’s gotta something else than simply surviving, limping along despite the hurt. We’re well passed the ‘casserole period’ – the approximately six weeks in which friends and relatives bring you casseroles and other foods to help you. We’re now into the ‘why aren’t you over it’ period where the same people who took such good care of you after the tragedy have lost interest in or are otherwise embarrassed when you mention it.

My girls, Charlotte and Marianne, would have been three months old today except they’re dead.

Only now are Kathi and I ready to start putting our lives back together piece by miniscule piece. We still spend days crying, screaming and raging at the gods and the universe for inflicting this pain on us and allowing our girls such a brief look at life before snatching it away from them. We’re so happy that our babies never opened their eyes to see the horror we face every day.

My girls, Charlotte and Marianne, would have been three months old today except they’re dead.

Each small moment of pleasure still feels like I’m betraying my girls. I bought myself a replacement for the dead wireless card in my laptop on Saturday. Every one of those $40 was a dollar I should have been spending on teaching my girls about the joy and beauty I used to believe existed in the world. Every French class, every time I laugh with friends at our regular Sunday night game, every novel or history I read, I again make the decision to turn off their life support and watch them die.

My girls, Charlotte and Marianne, would have been three months old today except they’re dead.