Right when you think you are finally getting a grip on this new life you are living, right when you feel like you have control of your emotions, right when you think the deep sadness and darkness that once surrounded you has began to lessen you feel it again. That ache that is so deep within you it's impossible to escape. It's as if the outside world knows exactly when to throw at you that harsh reminder that your child has left you. As much as you try to escape the feelings, as much as you try to escape the pain and as much as you try to escape the dark memories; you can't.
The other day at work I was walking down the hallway when I saw an adorable little boy who I imagined was pretty close to my son Levi's age. Since I work in a skilled nursing facility a small child under the age of 10 is a rare sighting. In front of him I saw his mom pushing a stroller and walking behind him was what I could only assume his grandmother carrying a beautiful chunky little baby in her arms. As I walked behind these adorable kids I saw what could have been my future flashing before my eyes. But instead of dwelling in the sadness I decided to ask the mom how old her little boy was
"He is so cute, how old is your oldest?"
"2 years and 2 months"
"How perfect, I have an almost 2 year old at home and I thought your little man looked to be about his age."
"Oh man, you must have a pretty big guy if he's about the same size as this one and not quite two."
I responded with, "Yea he's not the smallest of the bunch."
The grandmother then turns to me and says: "But I bet you don't have one this size at home" and held up the cutest little blue eyed, pudgy baby I had seen in quite awhile.
My eyes, just like they have experienced much too often these days started to well up, so I quickly answered "You're right, I don't have one that size."
The daughter turned around at that point and said "See Mom, she was one of the smart ones."
I can't even write these words without tears streaming down my cheeks. The pain I feel when I re-live this conversation is just so real. So incredibly real, that sometimes I wish parents who have lost their children could wear a sign that says "I'm a mother/father to an angel." I wish that mother had known that I would have given anything to have what she had. To hold two perfectly healthy, happy babies in my arms, to have them close in age and to watch them grow up together. I struggle every moment of every day with the fact that I will never get to see Harper grow up, that she wasn't healthy while she lived her earthly life and that I had to witness her take her last breath in my arms.
One thing I've learned for sure in the realm of grieving is that reality is so harsh sometimes. You can't escape it and you can't avoid it, it doesn't stop for you and it doesn't always cater to your needs. When you've lost your child you have to learn to survive within reality. You have to re-learn how to breathe, how to walk, how to function and how to strive without a piece of yourself. It's unfair, it's unthinkable and it's tragic but it's also necessary. Mothers of infant loss most definitely learn very quickly what true strength feels like; not because they want too necessarily but because they have too. My soul has never ached so much in my whole life and yet here I am: still standing, still breathing and still moving forward. Some days I'm not really sure how it is possible. Reality wants to knock me down at times, wants to remind me of the darkness and the sadness that floods my being but strength is knowing that there is light and strength is believing that one day that light will shine through again and that one day we will be reunited for eternity and all will feel complete. So when reality comes knocking at my door, I've learned to take a deep breath, roll with the punches and picture my beautiful baby girl shining down on me from up above.
So with that image on my mind, today I pick up another broken piece on this unimaginable journey and place this particular one where it belongs with the hope that one day this journey will look complete once again and I can hold my beautiful daughter in my arms and tell her how much her mommy misses her and loves her. *Harper Lynn*
