June 24th

Im struggling to write. Normally my mind goes faster than my fingers can keep up with, and there is just nothing. I dont feel pressure to do so, but for my brain to have nothing to say..it's just not normal.

There's only so many times I can say, I miss Kilian. There's only so many ways I can articulate the pain that comes with loosing your baby. And beyond those two things - theres nothing else.

How are you hanging in there? I'm becoming resentful of this question. How? By the grace of God. Or whoever you believe in. Whoever I believe in. And I dont. And would you like me to answer, ok? Or would you like to know the truth? Because that looks like a whole lot of reasons to call in the professionals.

There is nothing to live for.

I am completely empty.

I just...want...Kilian.

I am not 'hanging in there', I have woken up every morning. That's it. I wake up, and I count down the hours before I can go back to sleep.

Had everything gone 'right', he would have been born roughly a week ago. I would have a newborn baby at home. I would be up every couple of hours to either tend to him or pump. There would be spit up rags stragically placed around the house, boxes of diapers identifying as end tables. I would be carrying him around in my heavily researched baby wrap carrier, and getting him snug as a bug in a rug with the organic muslin and cotton swaddle I finally chose after scrolling thru every single one that exists..

Instead, I have what seems to be nearing a hundred medical bills (he's officially our million dollar baby) stacked in 'Kilians' basket - where I used to keep random things of his, like blood pressure cuffs and preemie size diapers and the socks he wore as mittens. I sleep as long as I possibly can sleep. And I carry his little urn, the perfect representation of 'little ball of chaos', everywhere. He has been to various grocery stores, events and family homes - nestled in my purse, a safe haven reminiscent of his NICU days, in situations that are not ideal for a baby urn to be out front and center.

And I wrap him up in his blanket to sleep with at night, partially because I don't want him to go rolling off onto the hardwood floor - and partially because if I bunch that blanket up just right to my body, and rest his swaddled urn against my chest, I can almost pretend its really him.

It's seriously so fucking sad.

But it's mostly ok. Its not, but it is. Because you start to realize that this will be one of the very, if not the, hardest chapter in your life. It feels unbearable so your mind takes you anywhere it can to get gone. You start thinking of past times in your life, remembering how staggering some of those mountains felt at the time - and begin realizing how they pale in comparison. And it just makes you appreciate it all. All you have. All you have had, and the possibilities of what you could have.

None of the good will ever dampen the urge I have to take this world and rip it apart. I'm angry beyond pissed. I'm broken. I'm so incredibly sad that I feel like my heart could physically break. I can't stop watching the days stack up behind me that have been void of Kilian. And I'm just trying to hide from it all, living in the world that included him..all of my memories. Pictures, videos, 'memorabilia'.

And I'm just taking it day by day.

Hour by hour.

Minute by minute.

As I've said before, we find ourselves stronger than we thought when in situations that allow us to be nothing less than brave. Or something like that.