Loved

One page of thirty seven. Too short. I transformed Bridget's journal into a scrapbook of sorts. Putting her pictures along with the words we entered each week for her in our family journal.

That week before we let ourselves be too busy to write, though. The week I had become so very worried, and taken her to the pediatrician thinking he would know what to do. The pediatrician who thought she was fine. And why I would trust him when only six days before Dominic stopped breathing in my arms, this same pediatrician, as the on-call doctor for our regular pediatrician, had also thought to tell me that the irregular breathing I was seeing was nothing of concern. Yes, I did take Dominic in twice more that week to his regular pediatrician. He also thought everything was going well.

I can't blame them. I look at the pictures, and think back to those precious memories I have been able to cling to, and they are both just absolutely perfect. But in hindsight, there are some pictures that are eerily telling. It is what I was seeing in Bridget that I remembered about Dominic that had scared me so much. That I had tried to get the doctor to see that day before. That she was having the same kind of lethargic episodes, irregular breathing. But those were episodes, dispersed between the moments when you would never think anything was wrong.

That is what scares me still. To watch our other children seemingly perfect at times, and then at times with episodes so much like Dominic's and Bridget's. No one seems to be comfortable saying everything is going to be fine anymore. And I wonder if the other children, just as deeply loved, will suddenly be snatched away.

Today is again the day of celebrating love. Yet those who are loved are not all here. It is a sorrow in my heart that never goes away. It is heavy, and I miss my little Dominic and Bridget so very much. They were so very much loved. It is a love in my heart that never goes away. They are so very, very much loved still.