Stark Reality

I have waves of realization throughout the day, where something stark hits me like:
I gave birth to a child and that child died.
That child died before me.
That child died just two months after she was born.
That child lived her whole life in the hospital.
That child was so very sick.

I look at the photo where I am saying goodbye to Tikva, letting her know it is okay to leave her body, and I realize that hers is the same little body I carried and nourished for 9 months, pushed out into the world, continued to love and nourish for 2 more months, and then had to let go.
I GAVE BIRTH to Tikva and now she's gone.
That's not how things are supposed to go.

When this kind of reality hits me, my next thought is usually something like:
I should probably find myself a support group.
Or maybe see a therapist.
I wonder if all of this will ever not feel so strange.
Do I even want it to get to a place where it no longer feels strange?
I wonder if I will ever not miss my Baby Girl.

Real life now peeks out from its perch and tells me that it's time to "move on."
I hate terms like that; they sound trite.
What does it mean to move on?
Am I supposed to let go of this experience, give it closure?
I don't think it works like that this time.

It's going to take time to integrate.
For now I am just here.
Missing Tikva, loving her.