Thursday, May 31, 2012

Guest Post: Right Where I Am- Three Years, Six Months, Twenty-Seven Days and Two Years, Four Months, Four Days


It is my honor to welcome a guest post for Right Where I Am from Danielle. [Remember if you do not have a blog and want to contribute, you are welcome to post right here. Send me an email at uberangie(at)gmail(dot)com.] My dear friend Danielle's first son Kai died a month and a half before Lucia. Danielle lost her second son a year and two months later. This year, Leap Day to be exact, Danielle gave birth to her third son, an incredible little Monkey full of contented joy and love. This week, Danielle emailed me with her contribution to the Right Where I Am project. Her insights into grief and her journey last year are right here.  --Angie

My son is three months old.  He wriggles. He coos.  He smiles at us all the time.  He smiles so much that when he eats, milk dribbles from his laughing mouth and wets us both.  He loves it when I sing- ridiculous, composed-in-the-moment songs about Mickey Mouse socks and poo.  At least once a day I sing through a throat choked with tears, because he is here.

When my grandmother, made Great-Grandma at long last, came to meet him in the hospital, she brought me a baby book to record my first memories of our time together.  It sat on a shelf for the first few weeks, all but forgotten in the sleep-deprived haze of new parenthood.  When I finally opened it,  his brothers were there on every page.  What we thought when we found out we were having a baby: Please don’t die. Who we told first, and what they thought: I didn’t use the word pregnant until the third trimester.  Everyone was terrified, but too polite to say so. What we thought when we were waiting for you to be born: Please don’t die.  Siblings waiting to welcome you home:… Suddenly, I could not write.

Our grief is very quiet these days – overshadowed by the newness and the unbelievable, heart-expanding joy of having this amazing little boy to love. Right now, in this moment, I am happier than I can remember being in years, or maybe ever.  I am falling in love with my husband all over again, as he asks me daily if I think this boy will ever be too old to let Daddy hug and kiss him.  My heart is light as I dance around in circles with my son in my arms.  My son.  Right now I have everything I have ever wanted.

Except them.

The other day I asked my husband if he felt healed, now that Monkey is here.  He didn’t hesitate.

“No.  No.  I just don’t have time to think about it as much.”

And yet we do think about it. It’s in the way we introduce ourselves to the other new parents in the neighborhood, where one or the other of us mentions every time that we had a long, long road to get here.  It’s in our daily conversations about whether we have it in us to risk trying for another living child- ridiculous conversations to be having 13 weeks in, but conversations that feel so urgent, so necessary.  It’s in our amazement that friends, expecting a son in July, are willing to decorate their nursery and take our hand-me-down onesies, believing without question that their child will come home.

He is here.  His brothers are not.  He is here.  We went to hell and back to get him here safely.  To get him here at all.  He is here.  There will likely be no others.  He is here.

For the first time in a long time, so am I.

21 comments:

  1. Of all the things I miss, apart from Freddie, it is the right to take things for granted I resent losing the most.

    It's replaced with many worthy life lessons, but I would rather have that innocence (ignorance?) back.

    I am so glad you have monkey. I find that having Ben now will do... It's not enough, it can't fix it, but it is enough to keep me upright.

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  2. I know what you mean about filling in the baby book. Between not having enough brain cells due to sleep deprivation and incredibly complicated emotions that come with the question "how did you feel the moment he arrived" or something to that effect ... many questions remain blank in my book too. How can I possibly put into words how I felt the moment Seamus cried ... and continued to cry ... and lived past the time his brother did? I don't know and so I continue to put off writing in that question.
    I am so happy for you to finally be holding and parenting a living child! Speeking of .. my rainbow is crying so gotta go! (((Hugs)))

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  3. Oh my. This just took my breath away. He is here. They are not. You are here. They are not.

    It never seems to add up. I am so very glad he is here. I am so very sad they are not.

    Just beautiful. Lots of love.
    xo

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  4. So glad Monkey is here safely and fulling your lives with joy.

    The innocence is such a huge loss. I'm in my second sub pregnancy and thought about buying something the other day (I'm 22 weeks) but just couldn't do it. I've got a friend due with her first at the same time and they were talking about buying prams at 10 weeks....

    xx

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  5. Such a heartfelt and beautiful post. Hugs.

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  6. And yet we do think about it

    Us too. We have so many conversations along similar lines. Marvelling at friends who anticipate healthy, living babies (despite the fact that they know US!), the hesitation over the introductions, the endless to-ing and fro-ing over another child.

    He is here. Was there ever a sweeter sentence? Apart from the fact that you are too? I'm glad. So very glad.

    But no, not healed. And I now have three blank (or very nearly blank) baby books in my possession.

    Thinking of you and your sons xo

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  7. I think my heart just swelled about four sizes larger after reading this post. It has been the most treacherous journey, this I know dear friend, but I'm so glad you made it. And I know, oh how I know, none of this means they are forgotten, you are healed or that your sadness is gone. Just so beyond grateful that you have a hefty dose of sweetness to sit along side the bitterness now, and may the sweetness continue to shine bright in your life.
    xo

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  8. Wow, wow, wow. Just beautiful writing here. I agree with Mary Beth about the I am here lines. So moving.

    A month out from having my subsequent, I can identify with so much of this post.

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  9. "Right now I have everything I have ever wanted. Except them."

    Stunning. I love the image of him giggling through the milk, and your silly songs about Micky Mouse and poo. He sounds so perfect and sweet and loved beyond what is fathomable. Thank you for sharing this glimmer of light and joy -

    xoxoxo

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  10. The loss of innocence is most heartbreaking I think. I listen to friends start talking about nurseries and baby clothes and showers at eight weeks pregnant. I want that innocence back. I want so badly to believe that we wont struggle to conceive number two and that if we do, we'll have a healthy baby to bring home in the end. ButI just cant believe that.

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  11. wow. so beautifully written it gave me chills reading it.

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  12. Thank you for sharing your story, Danielle. Your beautifully written words have brought tears to my eyes. Tears for your two who didn't make it, tears for my boy who didn't make it, and tears for all these babies gone far, far too soon.

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  13. I'm so glad he is here, Danielle, and so sorry his brothers aren't, too. We found ourselves having one of those discussions just yesterday evening - we're almost used to the way death has colored our lives, but not quite. Not quite.

    Thank you so much for sharing your post here. So much love to you and your boys.

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  14. This is beautiful Danielle. I am so glad that you have your rainbow baby and that he is here to help you be "here" as well. I have not touched a baby book since we lost our daughter, my rainbow baby's pages are empty. Life just doesn't fit neatly in one of those little books anymore.

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  15. Such beautiful heartfelt words. I am so glad your third son is here. I am so sorry that his brothers are not.

    And that last line ... yes, yes.

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  16. I thought of you today Dani. That time you surprised me on the phone a couple of years ago. I love that memory. I think of your boys so often. They are remembered x

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  17. I am glad that you are here. Thank you for sharing your story. So very very sorry for your loss. I can so relate to thinking "Please don't die" ALL throughout my pregnancy with my rainbow. We were shattered when we lost his twin (and his two siblings before that) and were terrified the entire pregnancy that we would lose him. I agree with your husband Logan did not heal me but I have less time to think about my angels. I still miss them the same, sometimes more, but I certainly can't focus as much on that as I could without this 5 week old rainbow in my arms... Much love to you and your family <3

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  18. Oh, I can relate to these words so much. I understand what you mean about the grief being overshadowed by the newness of a rainbow baby. We lost two sons in the past two years before having our rainbow baby(Elijah- our cerclage miracle), and I just really relate to what you wrote. I'm so sorry for your losses and what you've been through to get your little miracle here.

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  19. Danielle, thank you so much for sharing your beautiful and vivid words here and letting us peek into your space. I love that he is here. As are you. Although you have always been present for me. I love you for that. Thank you.

    Remembering Kai, his little brother, all of our sons and daughters.

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  20. I'm so glad your rainbow is here and, that he makes you feel here as well, even as I'm sorry that his brothers are not with you. thank you for sharing this beautiful post.

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