He’s coming here. He is coming to our house. He’ll be sitting on our furniture. He is coming because I asked him to. As the date looms closer, my anxiety grows stronger and stronger. My hands tingle. My head aches. My stomach turns. The surgeon who operated on my baby, the man who told me he lost her will be in my home. I will have to look at him. I will have to listen to him. I will have to somehow keep myself from totally losing my shit!!!
My husband and I decided that this has to happen. There is no avoiding it. We need to know things that only he can tell us. I have no idea how I am going to get through it, but I just have to. So I wrote the letter, we decided when and where, and now in just a few days Dr. ____________ will be in our house. I don’t blame him for her death. Her life was in his hands. He was the last one to see my sweet baby girl when she was still here. I kissed her, told her I loved her, and gave her to him. He didn’t bring her back. I need to know why she didn’t come back to me. I need to know why we lost her after only 14 months. I need to know everything he can tell me.
Even though I am trying not to think about it, it is always on my mind. I can’t decide where we will sit. In the front room? In the kitchen? In the family room? It seems trivial, but where ever this happens, it’s going to leave a mark. It’s going to always be the place where that happened. I have no idea what he is going to say, but no matter what it is, it’s going to destroy me. How do you prepare for that?