Sometimes I feel cheated. Cheated out of so much of her life. Cheated out of seeing who she would become. Her first day at school, her first boy friend, her first break up. I feel cheated out of so much of her life. So much I never got to do with her, or see her through. So much she didn’t get to experience, so much she didn’t get to see. So much I didn’t get to do with her…and I feel cheated. Out of a lifetime I could have been spending with my daughter. Sure, I got to spend two years with her….
I got more than some people did;
Her first word, first step, first smile. I got many sleepless nights, and piles of dirty diapers. The worry that comes from a sick baby, and the frustration of no sleep and no idea of what I was doing. I got the satisfaction of seeing her happy and I got to be greeted by the happiest face I ever saw in the early mornings, making it impossible to get mad when there was no sleep to be had. I held her many times as she drifted to sleep and watched as she could no longer fight the sleep.
But I never got to see her dress up for the prom, infact, I never got to take her to her first day of school. She never went to kindergarten, and never went to preschool. I never got to see what she would pick for Halloween, and never got to see what her personality would choose for show and tell. I will never get to walk her down the isle, I will never see what her future holds.
She was two years old.
She was just a baby.
And I couldn’t protect her.
I chased the hunger when she cried, and rocked her to sleep. I was prepared to chase the monsters, and battle anyone who dared to love her more than I to the end. I was there to protect her, and was ready to protect her from any harm, imaginary or real, that came her way.
But I didn’t. Despite my desires, despite my love, despite my best efforts, and willingness to “Just trade her places” I watched her die. Instead of watching her grow, and thrive. I watched her breath her last. Instead of picking out schools, and watching her dance off in the clothes she picked out herself, I picked out a casket. The last thing that would ever hold her body. When all I wanted was to wrap my arms around her, and die along side her. To be buried with her, to be the last thing to hold her.
I couldn’t save her. No matter how hard I tried.
Sometimes it doesnt matter how much I loved or love here. Sometimes it doesnt matter how badly I want something, because if it did matter – it wouldnt have happened.
