Friday, October 30, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Do not judge the bereaved mother. She comes in many forms.
She is breathing, but she is dying.
She may look young, but inside she has become ancient.
She smiles, but her heart sobs.
She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she IS, but she IS NOT, all at once.
She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Today you would be with us for 6 months. You would be probably sitting up, rolling over, cooing, laughing, telling us what you think of this world. Since you are not here to do that, let me tell you what I think about this place where we are.
It's a sad place. Because you are not here. We talk about you and wonder what you would look like, who you would take after, what your personality would be and it's so hard not to be sad when thinking about what should be.
But it is also a wonderful place. Because even though all we have of you is our memory, our blankets, little memoirs, we still have you. You are in our hearts. You are in what we do every day. You have shaped us, since you were in my tummy, while you were with us for 4 days, and in these six months since, you have shaped us into who we are. We are a million times more compassionate because of you. We are a trillion times more real because you were real. We are stronger because of the fight you gave us. And we love each other like this is our last day, because we know how important that is, because of you.
Friday, October 9, 2009
I don't know if I can even put into words what this video does for me. What it does to me.
It is the only live video I have of Chase. Therefore, it is one of the most precious things to me ever. It is evidence, better yet, proof that he was born. He was mine, ours, in flesh and blood. He looked just like his brother and sisters when they were born. He was a big baby! He definitely did not belong in the NICU. He was beautiful. Perfect in Every. Single. Way.
I love this video because it was on Wednesday night. When he still looked like my sweet little Chase. Before his skin became all blotchy and before he got puffy from all the medication, blood products and fluids they were pumping into him. My favorite photo of him is one that was taken on this day and this is what I see in my head 99% of the time I think about him. This is what he looked like. I can feel his so soft hair and his rose petal like skin. I can smell him and breathe him in. My head so close to his head. My nose on his forehead, at his ear. Whispering to him, asking him, begging him, to please keep fighting. Carefully leaning over his isolette, I silently wished my incision was as numb as everything else in my body was. I listen to our pastor's words but I don't really hear them. I am watching his tummy move up and down, like every mother does millions of times "just to make sure...." when you bring home a newborn. I didn't get to hear him cry and I really, really missed that. I wanted to hear him so badly. He did open his eyes for us and his brain waves on one machine indicated his undeniable response to our voices and touch. But I wanted so much more. I couldn't pick him up and hold him to my chest, wrap him in my arms, tuck him under my chin like I wanted to so badly. I wish so much that I had done that one of those 3 days. There was a point when I was convinced that had I done so, I could have miraculously healed him. Made him all better, like I always seem to do with the other three.
Wathcing the 13 seconds of this video is like watching him live again. But it's not a happy feeling. I wanted him to get better, but I didn't want him to hurt, either. I could't bear the thought of him in pain and I didn't know if he was or not. I couldn't tell like a mother should be able to. I did not feel good in the NICU. I knew it was bad. But I did not want to let go. I did not want to give up hope. Watching this video makes me feel that way again. Like not wanting to give up hope, but knowing you have to. And you only get 13 seconds. It feels like that's about how fast it went. A life. HIS life. So painfully short. So incredibly precious. Beautiful. Adorable. Proud. Happy. Yet so intensely sad.
I love you baby boy. Mommy loves you so, so much. You are almost 6 months old and I miss you so badly. Please, please come to me in my dreams. I need you to be there. Won't you?