At forty-five (when we found out) no one was as surprised as I was. No one was more excited than my mom. Every time I talked to her, she asked (usually her first words) "do we have a baby yet". The last time I called (the night before the morning I got "the call" was no exception. I told her soon. We talked about how we would get up there as soon as we could after so she could see the baby. I told her I would call her again soon. She sounded tired and I didn't want to aggravate an already delicate balance. (Another story, another time.)
I am forever grateful that I made that call that night as it was the last time I spoke to her (or at least that she spoke to me). I am constantly thinking of the things I did or didn't and the shoulda, woulda, couldas. I missed going home this last Christmas. I am thankful we made it for Thanksgiving. It still pains me to think about. My mom loved Christmas.
I know this blog isn't very organized and is, in fact, quite rambling but this is my mind in its rawest form.
I have mentioned this on Facebook and to friends and family more than once but almost every day I find myself wanting to tell her something. Every day, I long to see her holding Annaliese or to ask who she sees in her or did my sister or I do this or that. Every milestone makes me miss her more. I have a million pictures of Annaliese and a couple dozen or so of my mom but the fact that I will never have one of my mom holding my daughter just twists inside of me. I keep trying not to dwell on all this but it never goes away.
I want to try to start writing here more regularly again and as disjointed and disorganized as this was, I needed to start by getting this out. I want to move forward and focus on my beautiful girl and her mom and siblings. If anyone still reads this, I'm sorry. And thanks.
