In memory of my son, because every life leaves something beautiful behind...
Thursday, December 10, 2009
A Sad Day
I miss my baby. Just typing those words has been enough to get the tears rolling down my cheeks and sobs shaking between my shoulder blades as I try to be quiet in my grief. Some days when I feel sad like this, I hate pretending. I hate stifling my tears because I'm worried about scaring the girls. Oh my God, I've felt them coming on since yesterday when I laid down to sleep and Shane told me, it had been thirteen months. Thirteen months since the births of our babies. I can't believe it. That day feels so fresh and new it could have been yesterday. Maybe because it's burned into my brain as one of the greatest days of my life. Remembering the joy brings an acute awareness of the sorrow, of the emptiness. I can't believe how much my life has changed in the last eighteen months. I can't believe how different I feel now as compared to before I got the diagnosis of Calvin's defect and the joy was suddenly sucked out of my life. Today I feel old and sad. Today I just want to curl up in a ball and howl because I'm tired of having to hold it together. I need a day to fall apart and not worry about the kids or Shane or anything else in life. Even now, as I'm writing and thinking about my baby boy and holding back those sobs, Lorelei has just come in and asked me in all her four year old wisdom, "Mom, why are you crying, are you crying because you miss Calvin?". I do. I miss him with every breath in my body, every hair on my head, every fibre of my existence. I miss the things I'm never going to get to do with him, the growing and changing and learning and discovering and exploring. I miss seeing those "cute" baby moments that make you laugh like hell because they're so adorable. I miss holding him and kissing him and smelling him and the feel of his hand. I'm so sad that I can't give him the love I have for him and the insanity of thought that comes when you're babylost. I'm tired of the searching, the crazy thoughts, the morbid reality of my child in the ground and thoughts of reborn dolls and cloning and dna and IVF and digging him up and grave blankets and thoughts of how, how we can fix this. How can I fix this? How can I bring him back, how can I give Shane a son, how can I make everything normal again? How can I make it better for Calvin who is dead now and missing out on the life he was supposed to have with me and his dad and sisters? How can I get better? I thought I was. I want Christmas this year, I don't ache like this every day, I certainly don't cry everyday anymore. But I think about him. I think about him during every part of my day, in all the mundane things I do. I think about him when I lay down to sleep eyes wide open and staring at the wall. I think of him as I kiss Georgia and close my eyes and remember how his fuzzy hair felt against my cheek, my lips. I want this to go away. I want someone to fix this for me, cut my memories out of my head so there is no more sadness...I hate being without him. I never wanted to be this person.
I have decided to write about my feelings following the death of my only son in November 2008. I'm learning that grief is a process with good days and bad, a lonely road with new beginnings and unavoidable endings. It is my hope that through writing I can come to peace with what has happened to us and our beautiful boy.