It's something that just continues on forever. It seems that way. In a state of what ifs' and endless questioning. Despite knowing that I don't have the answers, I don't really truly need them. The what ifs' aren't helpful.
I struggle with that. The struggle with What.Is.
In some other reality I accept that I had a baby and she died. I do, I mean I live with that knowledge every day, so it's a bit difficult not to accept it in some way. However the reality of why or how is different. I have no one to ask, it's only opinion and used against me at this point. After all I'm the one to blame it seems. I accept that. I do it to myself internally anyway.
I can't help but feel responsible. What mother truly doesn't hold on to some of the responsibility for not being able to keep their children alive?
It's what we live for.
So when your baby dies you feel responsible. It doesn't matter how, it was your fault for not being there/doing a better job/making the wrong decision...
That's how it feels.
I often wish I didn't care so much about birth. Wished that I was like everyone else on the conveyor belt. Wished I'd just followed the crowd. But I didn't.