I keep waiting to feel better. Waiting for the wound to feel less fresh, more healed. The other day my i*pod ran through to music I had loaded into it after Caleb died. I let it play to see if maybe now, listening to the songs would rest a little easier on my ears. Bring comfort, not pain.They didn't. This wound is a stubborn thing. No matter the time that passes, it will not scar over. I check it to see if maybe I only scratch at it lightly it won't bleed. But it still does. I don't even think a scab has taken up temporary residence over the gash. It's more like I have a tourniquet on it and if I let go of it, no matter how quickly, the freshness of the injury will be unveiled.
It's stubborn in its permanence. Tenacious in its grip. No matter how many days I put between myself and its arrival all I can do is grow accustomed to its vice like squeeze, learn to take shallower breaths, ignore its shadow as it lingers on the walls around me. Reminding me, sometimes quietly other times forcefully, that it is here to stay.
I can go about my days now with this unrelenting force hanging about and I am fairly adept at quieting it's almost melodic hmmmmm in the background. But eventually it will grow impatient with me and feel the need to shake me into recognition of its presence. A few days ago as I sat watching Cason in his jumpy seat he scrunched up his face, wrinkled his forehead and squinted his eyes, one eye drooping down as the other furrowed into his brow line. And he was the mirror image of one of the few actual pictures I have of Caleb after he was born. It took my breath away. As we, the husband and kids and I, laughed at the face Cason was making I wanted to say, I started to say, he looks just like Caleb in the picture I have. But the words stopped short in my throat. Caught by the lump that suddenly appeared and the rapid fire succession of thoughts that flew through my mind. If I mention the picture, the kids may want to see it. I don't want them to see it. Not being a full or even near full term baby, Caleb's pictures are not images I want my children to have of their lost brother. While I can see the baby I saw after delivery and his resemblance to his older sister, they will see a dead baby, who does not look peaceful and beautiful. Not to them. He looks unfinished and dead. Now in their minds he is a complete baby, a dead baby yes, but a baby that looks more like other babies do when they sleep. And if they have to have an image of their dead baby brother, that is the one I want them to have, not the other more real one that shows the horror of death, the rawness of life choked away too soon from an innocent baby.
I turned away to hide my eyes, to give myself the moments I needed to re-wrap the tourniquet, bind it more tightly, stop the fresh flow. One more time. Again.
And then I rejoined the living.
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18 comments:
I'm really hoping you share these feelings with your husband or somebody else in real life. I haven't shown E's pictures to my other children either. I don't know if I ever will. I still need to organize her things, even for myself. Thank you for sharing your life with us. I hope to one day have another baby, for myself and for my children. I don't want their last memory of babies in their family to be death.
Peace.
I had lunch with a babylost mama who lost her daughter over 20 years ago this week - she described the wound the exact same way, a scab that never quite heals, and can be nicked or rubbed or pulled right off, sometimes at the most unexpected times. In some weird way I found it comforting, just to know I'm not the one, and that the depth of my grief for Ezra, all I really have of him, will never go away
Thinking of you K xo
Just know I am thinking of you always. Kids, they are wonderful...they don't have the pre-conceived notions adults do. My niece, when she saw William's pictures just days after holding a living breathing full term child said, "oh, Aunt Amy, he is beautiful, may I take this home to put in my room?" Kids, they understand what we as adults don't get. They see the real beauty in everything, they see what's inside, not the outside. They, your kids know what Caleb looks like, they know, because he's in their hearts.
I'm sending you hugs, can you feel my arms around you? Much, much love and peace to you my friend!
I see people (who have seen the twins' pictures) get this look in their eyes when I mention that anyone looks like the twins. We have a 3-D ultrasound picture of the new baby's face and I mentioned that I don't think she looks much like the twins. People get this look like, how can she tell, her babies were so tiny. But I have their faces memorized.
I too hope you can share your thoughts with hubby. It helps to have just one person at least who you can say things like this to, who will understand and not give you the look.
I get this, although I haven't allowed myself too much time to think about it yet. But I do know that anytime I have thought of Hannah in the last week (as often as I did before), I feel the tears starting so I push the thoughts away. I have allowed a few when I am alone with my husband, but it's something that I just don't think anyone else will get- the fact that I am blessed with a healthy baby (he's coming home tomorrow!) and I am still crying about my baby who died 15 months ago. I think too many people would interpret that the wrong way. It's not that I am not grateful for him, it's just that the loss of her still hasn't healed and having a new baby doesn't heal it, although it certainly does bring happiness. It's like this over the top happiness and this over the top sadness exist side by side in my head. I don't think I will ever feel one without the other from now on. Anyway, sorry to ramble, just processing some of my own thoughts I guess since I haven't had a chance to write on my own blog.
Thinking of you and wishing for a little more scabbing for all of us.
It often surprises me how fresh the pain can feel, just when you think it's scabbed over a little. Thinking of you and Caleb and Cason with love.
In a way, it's good that the wound stays somewhat fresh. It's a bummer because it's the only way we have to really stay connected with our little ones. I'll take what I can get. :) And man, do I hope the baby growing in my belly right now looks exactly like Dresden!! I'd love to have the chance to see what he would have looked like through his life. :)
i've thought about the time, who knows when, i would show the kids the pictures of paige. i know the timw will come. they don't really even know about her right now, but someday they'll ask for elaboration on comments dropped here and there. i guess i can be glad that she does look like a sleeping baby...not for me, because that hurts the most, but at least for them.
I was sat crying in a restaurant today while watching an 18 month old boy running round the restaurant playing. Even sat there with Em it still hurts like hell. I just can't help thinking that he should be here too.
Sending you big hugs x x x
It's the unexpectedness of these happenings that really feel like a punch in the stomach to me. I think I'm getting some scar tissue then bam - something happens and I realise the wound is still utterly fresh and raw. "It's stubborn in it's permanence" - perfectly said K.
I feel odd that I never really made a conscious decisions about the photos -- I just put them up, and of course Bella saw them. I will say, she is completely nonplussed by medical equipment on a baby. If I'm at the computer and she happens to look over my shoulder and catch sight of someone's bebe in the NICU, she often says, "Oh, cute baby. Is that Maddy?" I think her perception of babies is probably warped permanently.
How lovely and yet heartbreaking that you had that moment. Thinking of you all.
((hugs))
you write my heart.
Hugs to you. I'm wondering if this is a glimpse into my own future, happiness and sadness coexisting. I don't think my wound will ever heal.
None of my business... but I hope that one day you do share your pictures. Our babies weren't near full term either and we have their pics in our home,and I find that it is children who respond with the most compassion. Little ones usually point and say "Baby", while older ones ask "Did I look like that when I was in Mommy's tummy, too?" I usually talk to adults more, explain things, but children need no such explaination. They see babies and that is okay. When they ask why they aren't with us, I use the "they live with Jesus now" response and they get that, even more than some adults when I say "they passed away."
I dont think the wound ever heals... At least mine hasnt. I watch things I watched with them... listen to things... and they all bring back memories, some good, some so painful I cant breathe.
Sending you hugs.
I love you.
I think you're absolutely right -- that there are some wounds that never truly heal. I feel a certain amount of guilt that, for me, it's not thoughts of the twins that break my heart over and over again. I know this sounds incredibly bizarre to say, but, in some small way, I envy you that your love for Caleb is so deep.
WHAT THE FUCK dod i just read at aunt becky's?!?!?!?!?!?
are you goddamned serious?? omg please update as soon as you can. jesus christ.
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