How do I tell her?

After my last post, Meghan came walking through the living room carrying the picture Daddy made us for Christmas. It's a picture frame that holds a picture of Max, one of Meghan and the two of them together. Meghan climbed onto the couch next to me pointed at each picture. She pointed to herself, a picture of her right after her first birthday, and said Meghan. Then for each of the three other pictures she pointed and said Max. She recognizes him in pictures now, even ones she hasn't seen before. She knows that he's different then other babies and children we see on the computer, tv or real life. She knows her brother.


I won't lie, it hurts every time she says his name. It's like a white hot knife through my heart.

It raises so many questions. What will I say when she asks about him? When she wonders why he isn't here to play or when she wants to know where he is? What do I do when she asks why she doesn't have a sibling when all of her friends do? But worst of all...How do I tell her that we couldn't save him or protect him? How can I survive the pain of her blaming us?

I remember being little and wanting a sibling so badly. I remember the pain of not having a brother or sister to grow up with. And I remember the sadness in my mother's eyes when I asked her why and she had to tell me that my sister died before she was even born. She had her tubes tied after the loss of my sister. I still mourn the loss. Because of circumstances surrounding my sister's death, I even blamed myself. And now we repeat the cycle.

I have this struggle in my mind of whether we'll have more children. Most of the time my gut screams NO that I can't handle the pain. It's hard enough raising Meghan with all the pain and fears I deal with. But then sometimes I consider it, just to ease her pain. Would she hurt less if she had a sibling? Will she hate us if we don't have another baby?

I just wish so badly I could change it all. I don't want my daughter to grow up mourning a brother she doesn't remember. I want him here, I want them fighting and locking each other out of their rooms, I want them stealing toys and hitting each other, I want them tattling to me. I just want him here. I want the nightmare to end.

I don't want to tell my daughter that her brother is dead.