I need to think. I need to process it and heal from it. And the reality is, there just isn’t time for thinking right now. There’s groceries, and diapers, and “Mommy, Mommy Mommy,” and laundry, and juice, and meal planning, and organizing, and diapers, and nursing, and bedtime, and dishes, and cleaning (and did I mention diapers?), but there’s not a lot of thinking.
There were several times that I was afraid to speak up or to sound pushy. I let the medical staff do what it felt was best, but I was Brigid’s only voice. I could have advocated for her better. There are so many things that I can think of that, if they’d been handled differently, might have resulted in her still being here. Or they might not have. I will never know.