I don't have anything to say.
It seems like I should, but I don't.
I feel like, maybe, I've moved on, but really I just don't think about the terrible tragedy that struck my little family a little over two weeks ago. It's easier not to think about it. I don't know how to quantify it, or wrap my mind around the reality of it, or I don't want to, so I don't.
I don't know what to think or do; how to process this.
It's so much easier to go on as if nothing happened. I don't have the constant reminders that Val has, so it's easy. But our baby girl is gone. Haley's little sister is gone.
I have so grown to love being daddy to a little blonde haired, blue eyed angel. She is my princess and I get to play the role of her prince. She bats those baby blues at me and says, "Daddy... I mean, Prince? May I have this dance?" And we dance to whatever music is playing (or not playing). There are few things that make me feel as warm in my heart as I do in those moments.
I was so excited to have another princess to love and defend... or not. Maybe she would have been a tom-boy who liked to spit and throw rocks; who would rather wear ratty jeans and a t-shirt than a "princess" dress. Maybe she would have been something in-between. I would have loved that little girl just as much, but we'll never know what Harlynn would have become.
When we went to the hospital that night, it was with the intention of bringing a new life into our family. A life that we would cherish and love. One who, on certain days, we would snuggle one minute and discipline the next. We hadn't ever considered the possibility that we might leave empty handed. It wasn't an option. It wasn't.
I'm afraid that I will take the easy path and just put this time of my life into a box with a heavy lid and store it in the deepest darkest corner, never to be retrieved. I hope I find the strength and the will and the way to avoid that path.
Haley is an amazing little girl and she is a genius. She understands so much more about her little sister's passing than we initially thought she would be able to. We've tried to tell her as best we could what happened to Harlynn and why she couldn't come home. We've also tried to explain to her where Harlynn is now and how she got there. Some of it is encouraging - we will get to see her again. Some of it is scary - she doesn't want to die. Through it all, we have tried to make the right decisions every step of the way and have taken a "no regrets" approach.
At the visitation, Haley wanted us to open the casket. She wanted to see her little sister again. We struggled with how to explain why we couldn't do that. I made the mistake of telling her that Harlynn was sleeping. She continued to ask to see Harlynn. "I promise I won't wake her up," she said. Not having a better answer, we just insisted that it wasn't possible and left it at that.
Eventually, Haley went to another room to play with her cousins and watch Alice in Wonderland. While they were in there, Haley's little cousin, Asher, was struggling with being away from his mom and dad. The poor guy had been on the road 12 hours the day before and was sleeping in and going to strange places, so who could blame him? He was bawling and making a ruckus.
Haley began to get angry with her cousin for being so loud. "Asher, be quiet," she yelled. Her words had no affect on the distraught one-year old. "Asher, you have to be quiet! My baby sister is sleeping!"
Nobody in the room said a word. They didn't know what to say or how to respond to the three year-old angel who was trying to stand up for her helpless infant sister. What can you say?
I never should have told Haley that Harlynn was asleep, but it was the thought of her sister being disturbed by all the noise that kicked her sisterly instincts into motion. Though her understanding has improved in the time following that night, at that moment Haley did not realize there was nothing that could wake Harlynn. I made a mistake, but I'm glad it gave Haley at least one chance to do what she could to protect her baby sister.
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