It's an odd feeling.Which is probably why so many people can't relate.
It's odd.
That your home can feel so empty from his absence- and yet he was never really there.
That your car looked so strange without his car seat-and yet he never sat there.
Odd.
I can't find the words to explain it- but my guess is that those who haven't had their babies live in their arms have felt it too- at some point- the emptiness- the feeling of absence so strong for someone who was never really 'present' in your home.
It's an odd feeling.
While they were growing inside of me, I didn't know they were boys.
And yet when they were pulled from my body and I learned they were boys... my dreams came- like a flood- a flash before my eyes of what could have been.
I had them as best friends.
Playing T-ball at 6-
Driving together at 16-
Best men in each others' weddings.
And yet when I knew they were boys- I knew he was gone.
And yet I still had all those dreams- in a moment-
And yet they were gone- why did they come to me? The dreams?
Odd.
How is it that you have no idea of the dreams that you had until they are unfolded before you- in their own time- in their own way. Some of them were so sudden- in the absence of his cry- that night as I sat in my hospital bed with just one baby- and yet others have unfolded as the time has passed- as the world began to spin again.
He must have been 2 and I was washing his little feet and I suddenly thought- I wonder if Andrew's feet would have been like these.
Odd.
When he was four he laughed jumping off the dock and I suddenly thought- I wonder what his laughter would sound against his brother's.
Odd.
And will I think about it at T-ball as I did that night?
Will I think about it as he drives for the first time?
His Wedding?
Or will they continue to unfold at the oddest of times, when he skirts into my thoughts for a moment- a little nudge- mom don't forget- I'm here.
But life goes on- and yet I don't forget- these little thoughts-
Peaceful- So peaceful to me now-
And yet so odd-
But comforting.
They won't be on the ball fields, or at weddings and yet somehow he's always there- in the background waiting to be seen- or heard- by me.
Quiet.
He's there-
in me.
Odd...
And yet so my normal.
Posts
Odd. But I get it, I really do.
ReplyDeleteShe's there, but not there, walking next to me and next to Jo. If I look hard enough I can see her: the first day of preschool, dancing with her sisters, singing off key with the radio, hiding in the fort with the girls.
ReplyDeleteShe's there. For my eyes only.
She'll there as her sister drives, goes to prom, walks down the aisle. Maybe only I can see her, but she'll be there.
Thank you so much for writing this Laura.
ReplyDeleteMy normal too. Already. She's there with me and sometimes I have a little flash forward in time.
Playing with their dolls together at 5. Doing one another's make-up at 16.
Crying at one another's weddings.
But it will never be.
I hope that these little thoughts will be peaceful for me too one of these days.
Odd, maybe to other people. But not to me. I often try to conjure up an image of my son and my daughter ... how they would be now. What they would be doing. What their relationship together would be like. Very often.
ReplyDeleteEach time I find out I am pregnant I can build a lifetime of dreams in my head for that baby within minutes of seeing that second line. I'm sure you have those thoughts for Baby E too. I have them for both also.
ReplyDeleteI think about my girl all the time, picturing her in my head, with her moms curls and her dads blue eyes. I completely understand.
ReplyDeleteThey are missing in our home and in places and at events, because we planned their life out in our heads.... I agree with Krista, from the moment we know we are expecting them, we begin to draw the plans.... I can't say how it would be as I lost both girls, but I am sure it is a little different for you, through Joey, you will always have a glimpse of what it would be like to have Andrew here... I love this one!
ReplyDeleteLaura,
ReplyDeleteThank you for writing and sharing. I think about the ones that I lost every day. Some tell me that I need to not think about it and dwell on it "because it was so early", but I can't help but wonder whether they were boys or girls and what my life would be like. I've been contemplating commenting for a while, but I can see that you understand that it doesn't matter how "early" the loss took place; they were little miracles given to us by god, and they were taken away too soon. I often find myself angry, but try to keep in mind that saying that "things happen for a reason." Reading your blogs helps me to look into myself and understand that saying, not that I will ever forget. If they had been successful pregnancies, my oldest would be 9 this December 26th. The other two would be 4 and 5. I just wanted to thank you for being you! Your blogs are inspirational.
Kerri Tucker
Unfortunately this is not odd to me, I totally get it. I sometimes wonder what my girls would be doing. I can see all 4 of my kids piling into my car, I can see all the car seats. I can see my girls playing on the floor with each other, I can see them growing up together. But unfortunatwly this is all in my mind, I will never get to see any of this happen. I can't imagine how hard it is for you to grieve the loss of one child while experiencing the joy for another all at the same time. Thank you for writing this.
ReplyDeletexx,
Tina
Beautiful and so true
ReplyDeleteOh, Laura. We mourn the physical loss of our babies, but also every moment we should have had with them. It's so heartwrenching.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your comments on my blog. It's so good to hear a success story. I'm going to give Clomid one more shot and then I'm going to take a break from it (not from trying, but from the drugs).
I just posted Andrew's butterfly this morning. I'm working on one for Baby E, too. Love to you!
It's so true. I remember thinking (and still do) that it was so strange that my life changed so drastically by not changing. I didn't know Levi was a boy either and yet in my heart I think I always knew- and yes, those dreams appeared after they'd already disappeared.
ReplyDeleteOh, Laura. We mourn the physical loss of our babies, but also every moment we should have had with them. It's so heartwrenching.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your comments on my blog. It's so good to hear a success story. I'm going to give Clomid one more shot and then I'm going to take a break from it (not from trying, but from the drugs).
I just posted Andrew's butterfly this morning. I'm working on one for Baby E, too. Love to you!
Laura,
ReplyDeleteThank you for writing and sharing. I think about the ones that I lost every day. Some tell me that I need to not think about it and dwell on it "because it was so early", but I can't help but wonder whether they were boys or girls and what my life would be like. I've been contemplating commenting for a while, but I can see that you understand that it doesn't matter how "early" the loss took place; they were little miracles given to us by god, and they were taken away too soon. I often find myself angry, but try to keep in mind that saying that "things happen for a reason." Reading your blogs helps me to look into myself and understand that saying, not that I will ever forget. If they had been successful pregnancies, my oldest would be 9 this December 26th. The other two would be 4 and 5. I just wanted to thank you for being you! Your blogs are inspirational.
Kerri Tucker
They are missing in our home and in places and at events, because we planned their life out in our heads.... I agree with Krista, from the moment we know we are expecting them, we begin to draw the plans.... I can't say how it would be as I lost both girls, but I am sure it is a little different for you, through Joey, you will always have a glimpse of what it would be like to have Andrew here... I love this one!
ReplyDeleteOdd. But I get it, I really do.
ReplyDelete