Why I Am So Angry

We just got back from two lovely days at the beach. I enjoyed my time very much and was able to move forward from yesterday's incidents. Honestly, I felt much better after blogging about it. But, I did feel bad for being so abrupt. I didn't have internet access at the beach, so I've had two days to think about what I wrote yesterday.

After reading everyone's comments, I know I don't need to explain why I am so angry. But, I want to.

My world did not shatter when I last Ella. My world had already shattered almost one year to the day I lost Ella when I lost my dad. I was close with my dad. He and I talked on the phone everyday. I could call him and share good news with him and he would share in my happiness. I could complain about something that happened at work and he'd listen me vent. He was so proud of me. He always introduced me as his baby daughter and would tell people that I was a teacher. He would tell them that I was married to a good guy and would brag about the fact that my husband was working on his PhD. My dad was the kind of guy that would light up a room. He was always telling stories while people eagerly listened. He loved life. He wasn't ready to die. I guess I always intuitively knew that I would lose my dad at an early age. He didn't take very good care of himself- he was always a smoker and was all about butter on everything! But, knowing this still didn't make his death any easier. He was diagnosed with cancer in February and six weeks later, he died. I watched my dad go from being happy and self-sufficient to being totally dependent, hunched over in his chair, and hooked up to an oxygen machine. He needed round the clock care. I helped out a lot during this time and was so glad that I could be around to do that. It was so hard seeing my dad so sick, but I wouldn't have been anywhere else. But, the images of him struggling to breathe, the flashbacks of watching him die, still haunt me several times a day.

After my dad died, I still talked to him each day. I really felt his presence around me. I felt so confident that my dad was in heaven and that gave me a lot of comfort. I prayed a lot, to God, but also to my dad. A couple of months before I got pregnant, I prayed and asked for a baby. When I found out I was pregnant, I had such a strong feeling that my dad played a role in bringing us our baby. In the midst of all of the darkness, I was given something to feel hopeful about. So, losing our baby was just a huge slap in the face (to put it lightly). Why would God give me a baby, something to be hopeful for, and then take it away? All faith I had in my dad and in God has been taken away.

I don't usually play the "why" or the "what if" game. I just don't. What happened, happened. But, there were a few days that I was convinced that my dad took my baby from me because he was angry that I let him die. You see, my mom and I made the decision to let my dad go rather than putting him on a ventilator. We just wanted my dad to have peace. He was struggling so much. 99% of the time, I know we made the right decision. But, that 1% of doubt still kills me. Another time, I thought that maybe I had to lose Ella because my dad was lonely and needed someone to be with him.

My grief was only compounded when I lost my Ella. It is so unfair. I have friends who don't seem to appreciate what they have and complain to me about motherhood (yes, even after I lost Ella). I know there are people in this world that use drugs while they are pregnant and that there are people who verbally and physically abuse their children. Why is it that these types of people seem to have several children when there are so many women in the world hurting because they are unable to have children or they have lost a child? I just don't get it.

This week, Ella's due date week only exacerbates everything. I won't be bringing home my baby home from the hospital on Friday. I've already met my beautiful baby. I've already given her all the hugs and kisses I will ever give her. I won't get to watch her grow up. That's it, end of story. All of the memories I've ever had with my Ella have been made. There will be no new stories to tell.

I am so hurt and so traumatized.