My life seems so full of contradictions since Colin died, largely having to do with what I know now versus what I knew then. People talk all the time about losing their innocence, and I won’t pretend that I haven’t experienced death before, but not like I did with him. And in that moment, in the moments leading up to his last breath, my innocence disappeared. I’m forever changed, and it can make life so terrible, when I was lost in the mire. But it can also make life much better, like when I can just write like I do now. I mean the floodgates that had opened up after a drought of nearly a decade are insanely satisfying. It is a relief to have given myself the permission, with some encouragement along the way, to blow all of these words out of my head and onto any manner of pages, digital, looseleaf paper, the backs of checkbooks, fancy journals, and church bulletins. And oh, the people in my life, who might not be part of it now had my son so fully upended our world with his little broken heart. So many of you.
In light of these thoughts, arising on Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, I started to write a post on Facebook this morning. I likely would have cross-posted between my personal page and my writing page. But I wasn’t even half done and it was 175 words–way too long for Twitter and definitelyTL;DR for Facebook. So I find myself back on the blog after a lengthy hiatus.
I can’t help but reflect on the ways that this 7 lb 11 oz baby boy changed things with his living and dying. Sidebar: His Uncle Randall called him “Squishy” because of that 7-11 measurement–a nod to the convenience store and The Simpsons. Have I mentioned how much I love my brother?
One of the things that changed most is the people who are part of my life. What follows is sort of hard to get across, I think, because I love all of my people from all aspects of my life so very much. Really and truly love you all. But with so many of you, the fact that you’re part of my life is so bittersweet.
I’m crazy grateful for the unflinchingly supportive online community of babyloss mamas who are an integral part of my life, but I wish I’d never met you. I can’t imagine my life without my fellow heart moms and dads, but I wish I didn’t have a reason to walk alongside you. There aren’t words to express the gratitude I feel for the staff at Children’s Hospital of Michigan, but I wish we would never have had to cross the threshold. For those who offered a shoulder to cry on or an arm to lean on, I wish I had never needed it since I’m much better at giving support than receiving it. For the thousands who prayed for our family during our pregnancy and for the 109 days during which Colin graced us with his shining presence, I wish you had never needed to lift us up like that. For those who wrote songs, made gifts, and cooked meals, I wish that we had needed them once he came home to rest in our arms instead of heavenly arms. For those who have read my blogs and my articles for Still Standing, I wish I had no reason to write them. For those who have encouraged the writing of those blogs and articles, I wish I had reached out to you in happier circumstances.
But none of these wishes is possible. I am glad, though, that I have a forum in which to express them, and let them float on, because now I sit here present with my gratitude. My life is rich and beautiful and love-full because of these lives that have touched ours. In theory, I would trade you all for him back in my arms. In practice, I am blessed and lucky to know you. I give thanks for all of the gracious, loving, and generous hearts who have made this painful journey much less unbearable than it might have been if we had never met.
I will spend today with a heart full of love and memories, all bittersweet. I’ve grown rather fond of the taste.
