Eleven days after

Today is 11 days from Coraline’s birth, just two days after her memorial service.  I’ve taken to distracting myself by deep cleaning the house (as much as I can without overworking myself, since I’m still healing physically).  Yesterday was “go through all my clothes and figure out what fits and what needs to be thrown/given away or boxed up (like maternity clothes)”.  Today it was laundry and general cleaning (husband mopped the basement, which was much appreciated).  The long-ignored stack of papers in the laundry room was finally addressed, comprising some tax returns, school papers, hospital discharge forms and the trigger - Coraline’s birth certificate form, which I had filled out over a month ago in anticipation.  At first I just stared at it, numb.  Then it hit me – she never got a birth certificate.  She didn’t make it into this world alive.  But she was alive to me.  She was alive inside me for almost nine months, kicking, stretching, hiccupping.  The hospital (which was unbelievably compassionate and understanding to us) did give her a birth certificate, with her footprints on it.  But the only official record my daughter will have is her death certificate.