The Funeral and Ever After

I remember the Weber Family telling people that I was being investigated for killing my baby. I found out because people were calling my closest friends to find out if I was in jail. I remember my grandmother taking me to Saks Fifth Avenue to find appropriate funeral attire and thinking how absurd it was. I went to the funeral to make arrangements. When it was suggested that I select the equivalent of a styrofoam beer cooler over a traditional coffin to save money, I leapt to my feet with rage and the intent of knocking the funeral director flat on his ass. But it was the first emotion I felt outside of total devastation.

I was allowed time with my daughter who was beautiful in her baptism gown. She looked like she was napping in her white coffin. I placed a variety of treasures around her angelic body, including my cross. There were people, many people, but I do not remember any of them. I do not remember the words spoken, only that we were outside. I stood up, kissed her coffin, laid a single white rose on top of the spray, and walked directly to the car. I got in and the world stopped. People tried talking to me in the car and I waved them away. Couldn’t they see I was dead?

Back at the house, my parents had invited everyone over and they were drinking heavily. I do not remember any of my friends being there, but I know my mother was talking about how horrible this was for her. Juarez took me for a walk around my neighborhood to rescue me from the ridiculous chaos that I purely did not need. I am sure I did or said something obnoxious that sent him away again, but it was one of the last times I saw him. Shortly after I buried my girl, I ran into G. We ended up in his apartment crying while looking at Mackenzie’s pictures. We talked of getting married and having another baby to make ourselves feel better. Instead, I got up and walked out. I think I made the decision that I did not want to feel better and even after 17 years, I have kept that promise.

As I write this today, I cry. I am ashamed of my choices and my lies. I am angry that I was not able to protect my delicate child. I am hurt that my parents thought about their loss and garnered attention rather than show genuine and constructive concern for me. I am miserable that I spent the next year getting drunk and stoned to numb the pain. I ran away from this and from my parents by marrying the wrong man for me and wasting 6 years of my life with him. And I carry hundreds of pounds of guilt. I have had health problems in response to this guilt, which has required surgery. And yet, I do not feel like I have done enough to pay for the sin of losing a child that I had no business concieving in the first place. What does enough look like?
If I were any type of friend to myself, I would say we as people are not perfect. We use the tools were are given by our parents and if our toolbox is not full, we do not always have what we need to get the job done. I made a mistake, I am not a mistake. Though my heart broke, I did not truly die on that day and I shoudl stop wasting my time here on Earth. I have a beautiful daughter who is courageous, brilliant, charming, and beautiful. She deserves a healthy and whole Mommy. I deserve a life worth living. And I deserve to put this saddness, regret, and anger behind me.

I want to say something brilliant to Juarez that captures everything I need and want to articulate. I hope it does not take me another 17 years to do so in an appropriate way, but I need more time to think about what can truly be said to someone that I deeply love in the way that I do. For the time being, thank you is all I have and that will never be enough!