until my heart stops beating...

So many emotions running through me right now... I'm heartbroken, but there is hope. I am sad...yet I'm happy. I have desires though I am content.

I start round three of clomid tomorrow...and I'm really anxious about it. I am so hopeful that the medicine (not to mention my body) may work this month, but I am still scared that it will not.

I look forward to being pregnant again...yet I am terrified. My hearts one desire is to have a living baby here on earth. But I am scared to go through the things that will get me to that point in my life.

I know that God will take care of me, and Clif....and a second Baby Smith if He allows. I'm just letting my nerves take hold of me.

So I found out a few minutes ago that someone else I know is pregnant. I'm happy for them... but I'm just overwhelmed. That's what? At least seven women that I know that are expecting...and that's just off the top of my head.

Maybe God wants me to wait so that I can be pregnant alone? I don't know... but it's heartbreaking. Going back to the doctors office month after month...hearing those words, "not consistent with ovulation". Taking yet another test and seeing one bold line. Why can't there be two?

Do people get sick of me talking about getting pregnant again? Do people even really care? I know that they do... but sometimes I feel as if they just wish I would shut up about it already.

I'll admit here and now... I am afraid that if I stop talking about my experience... if I stop talking about Lillian Joy...I am scared that I will forget. I don't want her to be a faint memory. I want her to always be a beautiful and vivid memory to me and my husband. I never want to forget her. My sweet Lilly Bean.

I can't stop thinking about her lately. And certain moments of November 13th.

The moment that I knew I wouldn't be taking my baby home with me... the moment that Dr G and I looked at one another, the moment that I knew she was gone. The moment that I heard the sorrow in my husbands screams. The moment I had to decide between labor or c-section. The moment I woke up from surgery and realized it wasn't a dream. The moment that I saw my baby for the first time...and the last. The moments I sat in my tiny room on floor 6 or RMH writing my precious daughters obituary. Planning what she would wear, and what would be said. What would I wear? Would I be able to physically be there?

I remember how much physical pain I was in. But I refused to let is show. How could I complain about the pain I was feeling when my daughter was dead? I don't think I ever told anyone... the morning on her funeral, November 17th, 2009...my husband had to bathe me...he had to shave my legs and dress me. Not only was I not emotionally able, I wasn't physically able. Both physical & emotional pain are still so fresh to me... I can feel both as if it were yesterday....

I keep remembering all the heartbroken looks we received in the hospital.

One moment that will haunt me for the rest of my days? Being wheeled out to the front of the hospital for Clif to pick me up.

The car seat had been removed from the car, along with the bag of her things. I sat on the curb, wheelchair full of flowers...cards and gifts. A gut full of staples, prescriptions...a wreath the hospital gave me.. No baby... just a broken heart and empty arms.

We both cried as we pulled away from that place. The place that was supposed to bring so much happiness but in turn brought so much pain.

Going home was even worse. I left my house three days before then, anticipating the day I would return with my bundle of joy. Instead I came home with the realization that Lilly would never come home.

Here I am seven months later... and still very much heartbroken. Tears stream down my face as I type these words. I miss her, I want her... but know that I will never have her...not here on earth anyway.

I didn't want to say goodbye to my daughter on November 13th,2009. I wasn't prepared. Never in a million years did I think that I would bury my daughter just four days after she was born. But I did...we did.

To this day I can vividly see my husband walking across the cemetery lawn carrying our precious girl in a sealed casket. Knowing after a short while we would have to leave her there...leave her to go in the small hole they had dug for her. How could someone that small die? Someone that had so much life in front of her...

Even now, after all that time...there is so much pain. There is so much grief. Will it ever get better? I know that I will always miss her... but when will my heart stop aching?

My heart will stop aching when it beats its last beat....