"Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return." - Mary Jean Iron
Normal days used to bore me. Now I long for them. I hope for days when I am so wrapped up in meaningless chores or errands that my mind isn't allowed to wander. But, tricky, little thing my mind is, it always finds a way...the little bugger. It can be something as direct as seeing a little Asian baby at a restaurant. My husband is Chinese and we live in a primarily Asian part of town...so imagine how often that happens. It'll get me thinking about what Peanut would look like, how big he would be, what his temperament would be like; things like that. Or it could be as out there as this: my husband took me on a fabulous date the other night to a hoity-toity restaurant, you know the kind with a dress code and where they put the napkins in your lap. We were enjoying this fabulous dinner (it haunts my dreams, it was so amazing) and right in the middle of it, i started thinking how we should have needed a babysitter (my mom or his mom) to watch Peanut, go through the bedtime routine i would have had him on: dinner, bath, book, prayer, bed...or something like that. I can't say for certain what it would be because I never got to create it. So here I was, all fancied up, with the man I love, in this amazing place and I was sad. Go figure, but that's what grief does to you.
I'm not as religious as others, but I do believe in God. I couldn't have gotten through losing Peanut without prayer and putting my pain and hurt on God. But I must admit there are times when I just look up and say, "why?" We wanted him so much, loved him so much, why did he have to leave us? Some will say it's God Will and we won't always understand. I'm sorry, but I can't live thinking it was God's Will to take my son away from me. God knows how much I love my son, how much I couldn't wait for his arrival, and I can't believe in a God that would take something like that away. Though I'll never know why Peanut passed away when he did or if it will affect his brothers or sisters when I'm pregnant with them, I pray that this was "just one of those things". Like, this was a terrible thing that has happened, but it's something that won't happen again. I wish I could be so sure. I wish this was the one terrible thing that happened to me in my life and that I could be spared pain for the rest of it, but I know that's not the case. That's not how life works. If only, if only.
There are good days, though. It's not as if I walk around in a bathrobe all day with tissues coming out of the pockets. I have days where I can think about Peanut, not about what happened, but just about him - his face, his hands, his feet, his ears, his lips - and actually smile. My biggest accomplishment in life was growing this little person. I sometimes still can't believe that I did it; he was so beautiful. Then again, I'll never beat the Duggars, but I would like 2 or 3 more children. Coming from a big family myself (2 brothers, and about 28 cousins on each side) I love a house where there's always something happening - someone's always there to talk to, someone's always in the kitchen, there's always noise. I never realized how much I loved noise until I spent time alone in this house. It feels so huge, empty, and silent since Peanut. So, the good days. They're not perfect and I wouldn't want them to be. I get frustrated in traffic, forget things at the grocery store, and burn dinner. But I'll take that any day over the days I spend crying in the shower.
Oh, but the bad days. Sometimes, I'll relive the whole thing all over again. I don't want to, but my mind. I'll hear the midwife's voice ringing in my head, "i'm sorry, but there's no heartbeat." I'll remember delivering him and bawling to my husband, "my baby, my poor little boy." So, though I function: I laugh and make others laugh (I love doing that), I work, I do all these things, there is still a grief inside me that I feel most would wonder how I even get out of bed. But we do, us grieving parents, we get out of bed and live our lives with this dark cloud always looming over us. "Tut, tut, it looks like rain." - Christoper Robin from Winnie the Pooh and the honey bees. Please know, that though we do these things, though we may have other children (either before or after our loss) that the pain will never leave us. We will never forget those that should have been. For me, it's a dull pain, one you don't always notice, but is always there. And when you notice it, when you dwell on it, it gets worse...much, much worse. But you stand it, never getting it checked out, just taking it on as your "new normal."
This is just a little something I came up with...it's not good, but it's my crack at being creative.
Appreciate the normal days,
When they are few and far between.
Be thankful for the good days,
Try to understand what they mean.
Pray on those sad days,
When all you can do is grieve.
Be strong through the hard days,
Know they will not always be.
again, sorry if this one seems like rambling...