If you are new here or have stumbled across this page, welcome. You are probably unfamiliar with our story. At the end of June, our beautiful baby girl Shaundi was born and she was perfect and such a joy! In early September, my husband found her unresponsive and not breathing. Life with in our family with one of our babies gone has been hard. I’m sharing our journey here.
Every night I fall asleep laying in the same spot that Shaundi died. I lay here and I imagine she’s still here. I wonder if she was scared when it happened. I wonder if she wanted for us. I wonder if she felt alone, lonely or abandoned. I wonder if it was quick. I wonder if she thought about me, about her daddy, about her sisters. I wonder if she knew how much we love her. I wonder why it had to happen here…why it had to happen at all.
Our bed was our happy place. We have spent hours and hours and hours and lifetimes here. It’s a big bed and It fits our whole family. We watch TV here, we eat birthday breakfast in bed here, we snack here, we recharge here, we work here, we lay here when we’re sick, while we’re pregnant and watch hours of Dora, watching movies while we’re on bed rest. We snuggle, we cry, we hold each other, we have tickle wars, we play “the floor is lava”. We even have family photos taken there! This is our happy place.
The day that Shaundi died, really died (and then was revived, but the day that she really died), I was having my haircut for the first time in months. Afterwards, I came home and I fed her. I held her while Scout and Lulu watched Dora with their daddy on the bed. We all watched Dora, we chatted for a bit, we all tickled each other, we all admired our beautiful, beautiful new baby. We loved on each other, we loved on her and then I left the house to go to work.
My first day as 100% self-employed.
Shaundi slept in our happy place and Jacob and the girls had dinner downstairs. And then she was gone.
I don’t know if this is still our happy place. We still have happy moments here, but it’s also a place of terror, of pain. t’s a constant reminder of death and hurt and longing.
When my brother died his funeral was in our church, the church that I grew up in and made so many fun memories. And then there was his funeral. And then years later my wedding. And then my sisters wedding.
Perhaps it’s fitting that death and life and love and hurt all take place in one location. Maybe that’s just the way it’s supposed to happen. Like hospitals; birth and death.