“And so I never knew you, did I? I can't remember, because I never knew.
... I needed, I decided, to really know her, because I needed more to remember. Before I could begin the shameful process of forgetting the how and the why of her living and dying, I needed to learn it: How. Why. When. Where. What.” (from Looking for Alaska by John Green)I know this desperation of wanting to learn all of it when the answers are unreachable. No one knows. No person on this earth knows what happened or why or how or when or where. Any solution that is proposed would be a guess. People offer guesses and speculation about why my daughter died. My babies died. But why doesn’t matter. Why doesn’t fix anything. Why. why. why. Yes. I get it. I ask that every day. Why. Why the fuck. How? Goddammit. Just take it all back. Bring her back. “And so I never knew you, did I?” No. I never knew her the way I wanted to know her, but I did know her. I knew my Alaska. She made herself known to me, and I love her unconditionally. I knew her. I did. I feel so defensive about this because of the perceptions of others. I have written about this quite a bit because it really is part of this grief. There is this weight hanging here, and it has been dropped on me many times: You should not grieve your unborn daughter. Your babies. They did not matter. You did not know them. They were not real people. You thinking that they are your children is crazy. You need to get over it. It seems just when I feel the weight has been removed, someone says some bullshit like that or I read it online. Just when I feel in control of that particular anvil, Wile E. comes along and slices the rope. Trying to justify my grief is a waste of time, but I’m not entirely sure how to stop playing that reel over and over. Perhaps I just keep on. I just come back to the same place which is my love for my babies. I just come back to holding the truth that I have lost my precious little loves and can cry if I want to.