I make my journey very public. Sometimes it's not easy...alot of the times it's not easy. The stigma of society still shushes the mother that's mourning. Whether the test was positive for only a day, you've carried for weeks and made it through that "safe zone" (I hate that phrase), or you've carried and bore a perfectly formed little person that never took a breath. It seems like everyone around you is stuck like a record player.
"You should really keep that private" "You can always have another" "They're in a better place" "I guess it just wasn't in God's Plan" This is not what a mother who's lost needs to hear. These are the last things she needs to hear. She needs a hug. She needs you to listen to her. She needs to know that it's not fair and you are so incredibly sorry her little passed away. Loss is loss. There are different degrees of loss. No two experiences are the same. However you need to grieve, do so. When I lost my children I felt so alone. Many well-intentioned persons tried to offer their abounding insight and wisdom on my experience, one they did not share. Everyone wants to say the right thing. I've lived through the horror TWICE and I still don't know what the right thing to say is. With my openness of my experiences I have had so many friends, acquaintances, and even strangers approach me. Everyone feels alone. Desperate for a connection or someone who knows how they are feeling in their grief. It's crazy to me to see all these women approach me on a weekly basis. Loss is everywhere. It's devastating and it is so incredibly lonely. Keep talking to me. If your journey does not include putting yourself on a public platform like I choose- then still know I am here. Know that no matter what stage your loss was I will cry with you. I will not try and placate you with shallow words and positive spins. I am here for you. I am here to listen to you. I am here to remember your child with you. Know that you are not alone and your grief is valid. That your child does matter. That it is NOT fair. Come to me and let me help share your sadness and anger. You are not burdening me with your pain. I carry it too, let me share your heavy load. To the mother who no one sees... who's children are not in her arms, I see you. To the mother with her whole brood in tow but is still missing a little voice in the back seat, I see you. There's nothing you did to earn this. Nothing you could have done to prevent this. God is not punishing you. I really have no answer. It's simply not fair. Come to me. Talk to me. Judgement does not reside here. You are safe from clumsy words and pity stares. I still think of your babies often. I am here for you and see you, Momma.
That onesie wasn't gifted for you. It was hand-embroidered for Logan with love and patience.
Those pajamas weren't given with you in mind. The jammies you are snuggled so sweetly in now upstairs- they were gifted to me in the hospital by a dear friend when I was awaiting your brother, Marek. The bluebirds on them were to symbolize your brother, Logan. Now, they symbolize both your brothers. Someone came before you. In fact, two "someone's" came before you. We will always speak their names. They will forever be a part of our family. Even though all these items are brand new, they are still hand-me-downs. They are second-hand. All of these "things" are not just material goods, but rather they are the hopes and dreams unfulfilled. My heart broke when I knew your brothers would never use all that we had collected for them. Everything was packed away in boxes. Stored away to await a time for use. I couldn't bear to give away or sell any of it. I saved it all in anticipation. They have been packed away and I have prayed I could bring them out again. It seems like every day I pull something out for you, my little rainbow, that wasn't meant for you. Each item carries with it a memory of one or both of your brothers. The grey and white blanket I crocheted for Marek in the hospital. So plush, so soft- I designed it to be perfect for "tummy time". Or, when I slipped you in the all white PJ's I reminisced on how your Aunt sent them for Logan. These things weren't meant for you. But, they are yours now. You are the first to use them. The first to wear them. When I see you in action with your brothers' stuff it brings on a wave of nostalgia of dreams unrealized. Yet, it also makes me smile. I love seeing these things out of boxes and scattered around our home. Being used, being loved. So, when you see me sitting back with misty eyes in a seemingly average moment- know that I am watching and living in this moment with you. But, also my mind has wandered off to a "what if" and my heart yearns for it all.
Marek, was born 351 days later; silent. His features perfectly formed. His hair - strawberry blonde. He stayed with us because we were given a Cuddle Cot. I remember holding his small body and staring at his face in the moonlight. I soaked in the weight of his body. Yet, once again, we left the hospital without our baby, only a box.
Nora spends very little time away from my arms. She takes nearly every nap on my chest. I fall asleep each night with my hand on her body in her bassinet just so I can feel the rise and fall of her breaths. Housework can wait. Laundry can sit in the dryer just a little longer. We spend an exorbitant amount of time cuddling and I regret not a single moment. These are the times I missed with her older brothers. I refuse to miss them with her. My heart ached (and continues to ache) for my boys. Too many nights I cried into my pillow instead of calming the cries of my baby. Too many quiet days were lost in tears and laying in bed. Nora's tears and frantic glances around the room looking for me are not because she's spoiled. My baby needs me. For 8 months I am all she knew. She was thrust into this great big, bright, loud, cold world and she finds comfort in my arms. I would be remiss to say that it doesn't warm my heart to see her eyes light up as I come into view. That hearing her whimpers for me and that seeing that smile doesn't make my heart sing. On the contrary. I will not put my daughter down. I had to do so with my sons. It breaks my heart that I had no other choice with them. Today, I do have a choice. And I choose to hold her a little longer, to snuggle her a little closer and breathe in every single moment of her baby-hood because I know all too well time passes quickly. And I won't know when a cuddle will be my last one. I don't want to miss a second. |
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