|Property of Julie Davis Photography|
Here I am again, sharing the hurt and the questions. To look here, one would think I'm always sad. That is not the case. I smile, I laugh, I celebrate moments but this . . . this has become my safe place. This is my place of safety to come to release those emotions that gnaw at me and cause this ache to hurt so sharp.
My Little Man is here and oh, how I love him! How I delight in him and relish him just a bit more. How I hold him a bit too much . . . a second longer than needed. How I smother him in kisses and then give him just one more. I talk to him - all the time talking. I tell him what I'm doing, what I should be doing and what his silly sister is doing. I watch him all the time. I watch as his baby blues observes and takes in the world around him. I watch him as he smiles and I become excited to see who he will become. I get excited over the opportunity and privilege to watch him grow. And then, in that moment - that moment full of excitement and joy - I am hit all over again with grief. Grief over the loss of my sweet Emmy and Vivi. Grief over the loss of knowing who they would have become. I find that I am lost, not knowing how to feel.
They should be here! Running around. Being loud. Making my days crazy!
But they are not and I realize once again, that I have not accepted that fact. I don't think I ever will. How does a mother ever accept the fact that her babies died? My mind can't make sense of it and my heart can't grasp it.
I miss them! It's so simple and yet so complicated. I miss them and I ache so desperately for them. There are no words to describe it. I have tried. For seventeen months I have tried to describe the chest crushing, breath stealing hurt and I can't. I can't because babies are not supposed to die! There is a word for one who has lost both parents and a word for one who has lost a spouse but there is no word for one who has lost a child.
They should be here! I want them here!
Little Man is here and I am so thankful! He doesn't make any of this easier and he has not helped me heal. He is my baby. He is not an eraser for my pain or a doctor to mend my broken heart. He is my baby . . . my son.
He doesn't negate the death of his older sisters and Emmerson and Vivienne don't negate the life and love of and for him.
But it can still be all so hard and confusing. During those middle of the night feeds, while gazing at him through hazy eyes, I let out a sigh of relief that he is here and I get to hold him. Though bone tired, I say a prayer of thanks that I get to arise in the middle of the night to feed and cuddle him. And during the darkness and sleepy fog of night, I wonder how I would have done it with two babies. I wonder and I try to picture what it would have looked like. And even though my arms are full, they feel so empty.
Some one said to me that had the twins lived, Little Man would not be here. Now when I question and try to picture the life that never was, I feel guilt. So much guilt! Wishing Emmerson and Vivienne were here doesn't mean I wish Little Man wasn't. How do you rectify this? How can I wish for Emmy and Vivi to be here when he is?
I don't know. I get confused. I get lost. I find that it's this delicate balance . . . it's this place, a time that doesn't exist. A place where you can look forward to today . . . to tomorrow, but one where you are also looking back at what might have been. Looking back at those moments that never were and trying to get them into focus.
This is my life. I'm teetering this line of acceptance and regret, this line where I am looking through the same lens at what is and also at what might have been. I am pulled in two different directions, between two different worlds.
They say that time in Heaven is compared to "the blink of an eye" for us on earth. Sometimes it helps me to think of them running ahead of me through a beautiful field of wildflowers and butterflies; so happy and completely caught up in what they are doing that when they look behind them, I'll already be there.
~ Unknown ~