Every time I see a ambulance I wonder if they are the ones that came to my house. I see them with their flashing lights and have no hope, because for me there was no hope. She didn't get to go to the hospital. She didn't get to leave my kitchen table. All those tubes all those people and me sitting calmly on the couch knowing my kid was dead beyond hope. Dead.
I didn't get the heart wrenching choice of choosing to let people take her organs and I don't know why that bugs me soo much. I guess because its such a nice way to know that a part of them lives on.
Love wasn't enough. It just wasn't enough. It isn't enough to love some one wholly and unconditionally because when its their time to go they are just gonna go and its not freaking fair. I want answers I will never have. I want understanding and I want to be pregnant again so bad I cannot stand it. The guilt eats at me and I'm not 100% sure I deserve a second or third chance whatever it might be. I want to shout to people to realize the blessings they have, yes kids are hard, yes they annoy you, yes they make you mad but dammit when they leave you. When they are no longer there you become this empty shell of a person. I'm empty and it isn't enough that I love my family and that I'm grateful for them and for 'she who lived'. "She who lived" our new nickname for Emily because we are morbid like that.
I think all day I've just been surrounded with this pain of knowing it wasn't enough. Seeing those flashing lights with the siren rushing by me and being so freaking angry that my child didn't even get the chance to leave my kitchen table.