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Tuesday, July 8, 2014

When you're always missing one.

There are still times when I sit here...and I try to comprehend what happened with you, Luke, and I still don't believe it.  I'm still in disbelief.  How on earth could we have experienced stillbirth, in 2012?  And how could it have been you that we lost?

These thoughts cross my mind almost daily--when I think about you.  I wonder if this stage of grief will ever end?  Disbelief.  I've accepted it.  I know that.  I accept it every day when I see Lena alive and growing. She wouldn't be here without you, Luke.

But the depths of what we lost that day. I still can't believe that all of this happened to me.  To my family.  I would do anything to make it different, but to know--every day--that there is nothing that me or anyone could do to make it different--It's still a hard pill to swallow. Still.  It's hard to come to grips with the fact that I can't ever fix this.

I'm a normal mom to most, now. People see me with Lena in the stroller and just know that I'm her mom. I wish there was some way for them to know that I'm your mom too, Luke. That you're the reason I'm her mama. 

For some reason, these thoughts are really sad for me today. I always wonder if things will ever feel different, but deep down, I know the answer will always be no. Because you will always be part of me and my life and in my soul. And I will always have this hole that's missing you. We don't get a do-over. 

And as we get further away from saying goodbye to you at that chapel...it will always stay the same.   You will always be the same. The worst part is that it feels like everyone else gets to move on.  And I'm torn between wanting to and not.

I'd love to not feel this dull pain.  But if all I have left is the memory of you and what you could have been, how will I ever let that go? It's a puzzle that will never be sorted out. 

Sometimes I hear terribly devastating news, like the spat of unexplainable murders that seem to happen on school campuses on a daily basis now...and it hurts me so much deeper than I feel like it does most people. I know what those parents feel. Not on the same scale, because I realize how amplified the pain must be to lose your child when they're so far into LIFE. But it triggers my empathy more than ever before. It hurts my heart on a physical level.

I hope I never have to experience pain like this in my life ever again. Sometimes I think I'm desensitized to minor hurt...because it's not the worst hurt. I know the worst hurt and I live with it every day. Sure, it gets less achy and more dull, but it lives with me. It's become a part of me and who I am. 

I guess the thing is...the farther into life we get, the more of these kinds of hurt we have to carry. As time goes by, life gets heavier. There's joy too. But the hurt that comes with the years is nearly unavoidable. 

I can't help but feel like we got one of the worst hurts doled out to us really early on. With years left to learn how to live with it. And that part still doesn't feel fair.  

It's not fair that I now look at pictures of Lena, sleeping...and sometimes catch a glimpse of your face, Luke. A face that I have never actually seen at this age, but can piece together from the memory of your sweet face that I was only able to spend one real day with. 

When you're always missing one, you're stuck thinking about what could have been...forever.  There's joy and happiness now, thank God. But nothing will make me miss you any less. Nothing could ever make up for losing you. 

You're supposed to be 22 months old this week. Almost two years old. You'd barely be a baby anymore. 

And that's just so hard for me to imagine right now. What should have been?  I'll never know. 

2 comments:

  1. I'm so sorry. I hate thinking those thoughts: what if? what are you supposed to be like today? You're right, nothing can make up for that loss. Even now, pregnant after my loss, I keep thinking that this is not how it is supposed to be. I'm not supposed to be pregnant. I'm supposed to have 2.5 month old twins bouncing away next to me. Sometimes, though, I think that the pain is good. It means that you love your little boy. It means that he is still very much a part of your life.

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  2. I'm so sorry. I understand the pain of having such an important part of yourself be invisible. And the pain, you are right, we'd prefer not to have it, but it links us to our babies. I'm so sorry that your dear Luke is not with you. XO

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