Dates
/
Amanda, our guest writer this week, lives in a suburb of Minneapolis with her husband and 3 living children. Her daughter Reese Christine Duffy was stillborn in November 2014 due to an umbilical cord accident.
I have always been one to remember dates. Birthdates, big dates in history, anniversaries. It might have been a big factor in why I majored in history in college, or maybe because each date tells a story? Light shed onto a moment in time that drew a line in the sand for someone.
Now that I am a mother I remember dates of positive pregnancy tests, due dates, birthdates, no school dates, no daycare dates, dentist & doctor appointments, sports practice dates, dates of major illnesses of my kids, etc. It’s a trait that in this stage of my life comes in handy.
When you’re a person who has the gift to remember dates and decide to delve into the world of parenthood, there is a secret that no one tells you. You could be signing up to remember dates that you don’t actually want to remember, but rather have to remember. Those dates hold a few memories that add to the handful you have of the baby that didn’t get a chance to live.
My gift of remembering dates sometimes feels like a curse. I think about what it would be like to let those dates go. What it would be like to not remember October 16th as the date my perfectly healthy baby began to show signs of distress just four weeks before her due date. What it would be like to not remember October 30th as the date I last saw my baby girl alive on the ultrasound screen with way too much fluid around her and the cord wrap around her neck, ultimately causing her death just three days later.
What if I let those dates go as just numbers on the calendar where I happened to have doctors appointments? What would it be like to be as naive in my thinking now as I was then? What if I still believed that my daughter was in good hands, that I was growing her safely in my stomach? That's it: just ordinary days that help add up to 365 days in a year.
The reality is that if I still had that naivety it would mean she wouldn’t have died.
It would mean that just this morning I would have watched her climb the stairs of the school bus as she embarked on the very last day of school before spring break. I would anxiously await her arrival home to commence the next eleven days that would be filled with sleepovers with grandparents, a girls date to a local bakery for cookies and milk, and some one-on-one time with her daddy.
I would remember March 11th as the start of her very first spring break. Naturally, I would remember that the weather was warmer and sunnier than the usual gloomy Minnesota spring days. I would remember that she wore a t-shirt to school with orange butterflies on the front, an item she begged me for during our latest Target trip.
If this was my reality, I wouldn’t need to remember the dates when our medical team failed her, the dates I used to punish myself for not knowing she needed me most, for not demanding more from the medical staff. If this was my reality those dates would have fallen out of the palm of my hand the moment she was born alive as new dates filled my mind. Dates of milestones met, doctors appointments completed, playdates arranged, and birthday parties planned.
There would be so many dates that, at times, my mind would swirl with happiness and gratitude for the dates I simply can't recall.
What dates do you remember? Have those dates become more or less significant over time? Do you remember these dates alone, or share the memories with others?