Sunday, April 30, 2006

For Celeste

Two years ago today I woke up in labor, but I didn't realize it. The baby, our daughter, Celeste, never had a chance to live, but we didn't know that yet, either. I was only 17 weeks along, but I'd seen her heart beating on ultrasounds and felt her moving a few times. Within an hour, it was all over and I was crying on the bathroom floor, unable to stop saying, "I'm sorry," to DT and unable to believe what had just happened. My second daughter was born that day, but it haunts me that I don't really know when she died.

I don't get to say these things in real life. It's uncomfortable for other people, and I'm not supposed to be grieving for her still. After all, we've "replaced" her, right? I have two healthy children. But the fact that I still mourn Celeste has nothing to do with my love for WonderGirl or Rocco. It feels like a political statement to even call Celeste "my daughter" or to say that she was born or that she died. Talk about making the political personal. I loved her, and I love her, and I miss her.

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