I had a strange dream last night. My husband and I were on a plane on our way to Durban, SA for a conference on adoption. We arrive at our destination and it switches scenes, where I am now walking into an adoption home and he is already there and already chosen a baby, a little girl. She was beautiful and then she wasn’t, she wasn’t as beautiful as Zia owuld have been I kept thinking. Switch scene and I am holding the same little girl and sitting with my husband accross what must have been a Counselor. The next thing I know I am crying my eyes out about my daughter who was stillborn, I couldn’t care less whether she thought was unstable I just went on and on crying about how awful it was to lose Zia. And then I woke up.I had one of those awful weekends, I missed Zia more than usual and I kept thinking back to 16 July 2013, the day my whole world came crashing down around me. I kept replaying the nurses and the doctor trying to locate her heartbeat. I kept thinking “come on baby be okay” and she wasn’t. How is it even possible that she wasn’t okay? It’s been almost two years and I am still so angry, so very angry. I spent the last two days in bed, moping, reading, sleeping, being annoyed. I didn’t cry, I didn’t want to, I just wanted to feel the misery of this life without my daughter. I am okay now, better, back into the swing of things. I hate the end of June because it brings with it July and I hate July. I wish it never existed, I wish I never had to go through this month all over again on an annual basis. I wish I could fall asleep and wake up in August.