Wednesday, September 2, 2015

you would be one

You would be one.

Instead you were born too soon.

When they used to say to be "you'll never forget, but you'll learn to live with it," I didn't believe them.  I thought every day would be as unbearable as it was shortly after you left us.  I dreaded every Wednesday, every 30th, every milestone that you would never reach, every holiday that you would not celebrate.

It felt like every day was a struggle, because it was.

At some point during this year, I noticed the good days began -- by a very small margin -- to outweigh the bad.  Glimpses of the mother I used to be started coming back.  And although I am forever changed from your death, I am a better mom to your sister, Sadira.  I love more intensely, listen more, and am more present than I ever was before.  I don't believe it's necessary to go through trauma to appreciate every aspect of life...but it certainly provides a little perspective.

The truth is, the every days became bearable.  And then normal.  And then relatively easy.

But the bad ones, the ones where the bear of grief rears its ugly head, are SO bad.  They catch me off guard.  I feel unprepared.  I forget all of my coping mechanisms that I had to acquire so quickly after you died.

I cannot handle it.  I cannot catch my breath.  I cannot think.  It overwhelms me.

And it's so discouraging, because I sometimes feel as if I've come so far, but these moments send me reeling.

My grief has changed, but my love is unwavering.

I often think about who you would be today.  I think about what you would be doing.  Would you be walking? Talking?  What foods would you like?  Would you love music like Sadie did?  What color would your eyes be?  What about your hair?

I will always feel robbed that I never got to discover these things about you.  That I never got to see you interact with Sadira.

The day you were born and then died, I remember holding your tiny hand in my fingers.  All I could think to myself was, "I shouldn't be holding your hand right now.  This is the hand I should hold 18 weeks from now, on your real birthday.  This is the hand that should grow bigger, and grasp things, and put everything in your mouth. This is the hand that should reach out to mine when you take your first steps.  The hand that should hold Sadira's as she helps you cross the street.  The hand that should grip a pencil, learning to write letters.  The hand that should hold handlebars as you learn to ride a bike.

I shouldn't be holding your hand right now."

There will never come a day where I do not think of you, or who you would be.  There will never come a day, when I don't look at children at your would-be age, and think, "who would he be?"  There will never be a day when I don't stop wondering, and wishing I had gotten the chance to know you better.

I love you, precious Reece. I am sorry that we didn't have more time.

I will always wonder who you would be.