written August 3rd 2007
There’s this girl in the pictures from last year, even earlier this year. I feel so sorry for her. She’s naïve. She wears these innocent smiles because she doesn’t know what’s about to happen to her, she doesn’t know her life is about to change forever. She isn’t considering that her pregnancy might result in a grave instead of a baby. She doesn’t think she’ll ever have a daughter and she can’t fathom burying one. She was planning a nursery, not a funeral. That poor girl was me in another life. 4 months and 2 days ago, when life was still perfect; when both of my children were still alive. I’m in mourning for that girl as well as my daughter. She was fun. People wanted to be around her. She could find optimism in everything. She wasn’t the girl that would cry for no reason. She wasn’t a bitter, angry person. She wasn’t so sad. She wasn’t afraid of holding her nieces because it would upset her. She could listen to music without it taking on a whole new meaning, a sad meaning. She wasn’t the one that people were awkward around. She wasn’t the one people were hesitant to have around. She was the one that comforted others, not the one who had trouble comforting herself even. She wasn’t the one who didn’t even want to make a trip to the grocery store because she should be going with two children.
I don’t know what the future holds for that girl, the girl I am now. There are a few things I can take comfort in:That girl will carry on the memory of her daughter and make sure no one forgets.That girl never has to regret loving her children with all of her heart and soul because she does and always will, she has since the moment of conception.That girl has a daughter and will always have a daughter. That girl reads the bible daily. That girl has a mission to get back to her daughter.That girl saw an amazing outpouring of grief for this beautiful little soul, who’s feet may not have touched the earth, but her presence touched many on earth. That girl was given an amazing gift, even if she didn’t get to keep it.
Showing posts with label looking back. Show all posts
Showing posts with label looking back. Show all posts
Friday, January 16, 2009
another one from the vault
A blog entry from December 26, 2008 and more fitted to here.
It's 11:15 pm the day after Christmas, the boys will be up around 5:30 and I'm exhausted. The boys are all exhausted (all 3 of them!) and snoring soundly. I should sleep. I can't. I spent Christmas, like everyday, with an insane range of emotions. When I look at Boston and Callum, I could just burst; they give me such love, such pride, such peace. I cannot believe I've been so lucky. I am so very, very blessed to have my husband; so warm, caring and true. I don't know how I've been so lucky. Then, there is an aching, throbbing hole in our family. Keely should be here too. We talk about her, miss her, love her daily. She's in our every thought, all of our sweet babies are. Our boys know her, miss her, love her. I wish they could grow up with her. I'm not an unhappy person by any means. I don't want it to sound like I don't appreciate my blessings because I do. They make my heart swell. They are sleeping right here; one in my arms and one at my side. I could sit here all night just listening to their breath. I will and I am so thankful for it; both that it's there and that I'm here to hear it. If I don't hear it for a split second, I'll have to nuzzle them to make sure they're okay.
There is a family not that far away tonight that won't be hearing the reassuring breaths of their son (I had a photoshoot for NILMDTS whom I'm a photographer with). There are little boys sleeping tonight whose mother can't be there to listen (I checked the lemmondrops blog). I am just heartsick for these families, facing their darkest hours right now. I've been in the position of facing the first night of your child in Heaven and you here, without a clue of what to do. Mundane things seem so silly, so pointless. That's how I feel tonight. Why should I get to sit here and watch a movie or sleep? I remember the first night after Keely died. Sam made mac n chreese and while Boston ate, we sat in silence. Those plates sat there, untouched, until my mom did our dishes the next day. Sam and I sat up all night watching videos on Mtv. That was the first time I saw Rob Thomas' "Little Wonders". Boston slept in both of our laps and I felt every twitch in my body, hoping to feel her move, hoping they'd made a mistake. Someone is sitting up right now, unable to sleep, left with only memories, hoping there was a mistake.
I started the Kelly Corrigan book yesterday. This is what I get for reading- ha!
I'm terrified of facing that night again, that first night and I'm terrified of someone facing that night with only memories left of me. I find such comfort in my faith, in the Bible. It isn't death that frightens me. I'm trying desperately to live a good life. Nights like tonight, I want to hug everybody I've ever wronged, just to be sure. I'm not scared of death but I'm in no hurry. I have children on both sides and the ones here need me more. Young, vibrant, full lives gone with little or no warning. I miss that "it won't happen to me" ignorant bliss. I never said it but I'm sure I thought it subconsciously at least. I can never feel a part of that category now. It's not that I'm sitting around waiting for bad things to happen. But nights like tonight, it catches up to me. I have to have a good cry or purge my rambling, probably incoherent rants on unsuspecting friends. Or both.
It's 11:15 pm the day after Christmas, the boys will be up around 5:30 and I'm exhausted. The boys are all exhausted (all 3 of them!) and snoring soundly. I should sleep. I can't. I spent Christmas, like everyday, with an insane range of emotions. When I look at Boston and Callum, I could just burst; they give me such love, such pride, such peace. I cannot believe I've been so lucky. I am so very, very blessed to have my husband; so warm, caring and true. I don't know how I've been so lucky. Then, there is an aching, throbbing hole in our family. Keely should be here too. We talk about her, miss her, love her daily. She's in our every thought, all of our sweet babies are. Our boys know her, miss her, love her. I wish they could grow up with her. I'm not an unhappy person by any means. I don't want it to sound like I don't appreciate my blessings because I do. They make my heart swell. They are sleeping right here; one in my arms and one at my side. I could sit here all night just listening to their breath. I will and I am so thankful for it; both that it's there and that I'm here to hear it. If I don't hear it for a split second, I'll have to nuzzle them to make sure they're okay.
There is a family not that far away tonight that won't be hearing the reassuring breaths of their son (I had a photoshoot for NILMDTS whom I'm a photographer with). There are little boys sleeping tonight whose mother can't be there to listen (I checked the lemmondrops blog). I am just heartsick for these families, facing their darkest hours right now. I've been in the position of facing the first night of your child in Heaven and you here, without a clue of what to do. Mundane things seem so silly, so pointless. That's how I feel tonight. Why should I get to sit here and watch a movie or sleep? I remember the first night after Keely died. Sam made mac n chreese and while Boston ate, we sat in silence. Those plates sat there, untouched, until my mom did our dishes the next day. Sam and I sat up all night watching videos on Mtv. That was the first time I saw Rob Thomas' "Little Wonders". Boston slept in both of our laps and I felt every twitch in my body, hoping to feel her move, hoping they'd made a mistake. Someone is sitting up right now, unable to sleep, left with only memories, hoping there was a mistake.
I started the Kelly Corrigan book yesterday. This is what I get for reading- ha!
I'm terrified of facing that night again, that first night and I'm terrified of someone facing that night with only memories left of me. I find such comfort in my faith, in the Bible. It isn't death that frightens me. I'm trying desperately to live a good life. Nights like tonight, I want to hug everybody I've ever wronged, just to be sure. I'm not scared of death but I'm in no hurry. I have children on both sides and the ones here need me more. Young, vibrant, full lives gone with little or no warning. I miss that "it won't happen to me" ignorant bliss. I never said it but I'm sure I thought it subconsciously at least. I can never feel a part of that category now. It's not that I'm sitting around waiting for bad things to happen. But nights like tonight, it catches up to me. I have to have a good cry or purge my rambling, probably incoherent rants on unsuspecting friends. Or both.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
A year ago tomorrow...
In the early days, I kept a journal. As time passed, I relied more and more on the shoulders of other bereaved mothers through the MISS Foundation, which I am so very lucky to be a part of. We never have to walk this journey alone. Looking back at this time last year, we were just past 9 months since we held our little girl in our arms, since life has so drastically and so quickly changed. We were months away from holding our little rainbow boy in our arms, his life a voucher for hope restored.
Just over a year ago, I wrote the following post:
I had a horrible night last night. I was very paranoid for some unknown reason and felt very uneasy before falling asleep. It takes hours for me to fall asleep anymore, but I'm kind of used to that now. Before I fell asleep, my mind kept flashing back to the events surrounding Keely's death and delivery. Every last detail; things I hadn't remembered up until now. My husband and son were both sleeping peacefully (I checked on their breath like a crazy person) and I laid there crying. I tried to think of a million different things to distract myself. I prayed for what seemed like hours, but everytime my mind would wander back to those weeks. It's not that I want to forget them; they're almost all I have of Keely. I would rather remember the happy times with her though. After about 4 hours of that, I finally fell asleep only to have horrible nightmares, filled with blood. Very vivid, bright blood in each dream. When I woke up, though exhausted, I didn't even know if I wanted to go to sleep again. There is no safe place in times like these, I guess. There was no reason this time; no anniversary, no sad song I heard, just my mind going crazy.I don't know if I'm just getting scared of not bringing home this rainbow baby, whom I already love. I know a huge part of me is afraid of letting other people forget Keely. I know we'll never forget her and I also know it doesn't really matter; some people want to forget. But I feel like it's up to us as her parents to not allow anyone in our presence to forget her. I'm a bit afraid that when our rainbow baby is born, people will think we've forgotten her. There's no real point to this other than to get it off my chest.
MISSing Keely and her angel friends terribly
XOXO
Just over a year ago, I wrote the following post:
I had a horrible night last night. I was very paranoid for some unknown reason and felt very uneasy before falling asleep. It takes hours for me to fall asleep anymore, but I'm kind of used to that now. Before I fell asleep, my mind kept flashing back to the events surrounding Keely's death and delivery. Every last detail; things I hadn't remembered up until now. My husband and son were both sleeping peacefully (I checked on their breath like a crazy person) and I laid there crying. I tried to think of a million different things to distract myself. I prayed for what seemed like hours, but everytime my mind would wander back to those weeks. It's not that I want to forget them; they're almost all I have of Keely. I would rather remember the happy times with her though. After about 4 hours of that, I finally fell asleep only to have horrible nightmares, filled with blood. Very vivid, bright blood in each dream. When I woke up, though exhausted, I didn't even know if I wanted to go to sleep again. There is no safe place in times like these, I guess. There was no reason this time; no anniversary, no sad song I heard, just my mind going crazy.I don't know if I'm just getting scared of not bringing home this rainbow baby, whom I already love. I know a huge part of me is afraid of letting other people forget Keely. I know we'll never forget her and I also know it doesn't really matter; some people want to forget. But I feel like it's up to us as her parents to not allow anyone in our presence to forget her. I'm a bit afraid that when our rainbow baby is born, people will think we've forgotten her. There's no real point to this other than to get it off my chest.
MISSing Keely and her angel friends terribly
XOXO
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
