mourning doesn't end at sunrise

Viviana has been often in my thoughts lately. I'm not sure why, other than that Jacqui's been growing and changing so quickly lately that I can't help wondering what Vivi would've been like now, at two and a half years old. Lately in dreams I look for her. I'm always taken by surprise when she's dead. I wake up crying, heartbroken, feeling like I'm suffocating.

My friends and family know her story already; in case a stranger stops in here, or in case those who know miss her a little and would like to see, her photos are still online, and so is the journal. I'll warn you that the photos and story are upsetting; don't click on my account.

My pregnancy with her was actually my fourth. I had three miscarriages before I kept Viviana (almost) to term ... Jacqui was my fifth pregnancy. Miscarriages are hard. Holding your baby daughter and then LOSING HER -- that's harder. I'm not saying there aren't people out there who have it worse, I'm just saying for me, this was the hardest thing I've ever done. I want to type "survived" right there, not "done". But given the dreams, the resurgence of sadness, I don't think I'm quite through it yet.

And for those people who can't understand, the ones who continue to ask when we're going to "give Jacqui a brother or sister" ... this is for you:

It took six years and five pregnancies for Jacqui to get here. I DON'T HAVE ANOTHER SIX YEARS TO PUT INTO IT. I haven't got the strength to do it again.

So stop asking.