10 Month Milestones

Climbing.
Eating all table foods.
Clapping.
Standing.
Blowing kisses.
New babbles.

The list could go on and on. Those are common milestones for a ten month old child. Milestones of our Wyatt that I will never witness. The 25th of February marked ten months since the day that I was forced to hand my baby over, never to hold him again in this world. Ouch.

The empty pages of his baby book haunt me in my dreams. Oh how amazing it would be to create the pen strokes on those pages documenting every uninteresting, yet notable detail of my son's life. Yet, here I am, using keystrokes to document the minimal details of his short life and the never ending saga of unconditional love, heartbreak, and hope that are now ingrained in me.

I wonder what he would be like now. Would he follow me from room to room, perfecting the speed crawl? Would he stubbornly refuse to lay down at nap time or be a sleep- lover like his big sis? Would he already be in need of his very first haircut in order to tame those luscious brown locks? Would he torment his big sister by pursuing her throughout the house and tampering with her belongings every chance he got? Would he longingly reach for Daddy or Mommy when his tummy ached or he crashed while trying to perfect his balance? Would he be shy or outgoing in a room full of unfamiliar faces? Would he throw his food and cup from the highchair while trying to proclaim that he was finished? Would he love being cuddled by all those who love him so very much?

We will never know. Oh how that phrase stings my heart. To live with the constant thoughts and questions is a challenge all in itself. Some days my mind is so busy that the pain seems less real. Some days there are not words to describe the pain and hurt that surface. My grief process seems to have no aim or direction. I've been told that that is normal. Normal, huh? That's a word I don't often associate with my life anymore.

Ten months ago, there was a rip in my soul. The rip is still sore and the pain is still real. I can honestly say that I feel as if the rip has BEGUN to be mended, but this task is not for an unskilled apprentice to complete. I can not mend the tear on my own. And although I want the rip to be repaired quickly, I do not want it to be fixed with faulty, uneven stitches that will not last. With that said, I must trust. Trust that God is slowly, but surely patching up the rip in my soul with beautiful and strong stitches. I trust that when he is finished, whether it be in 1 year or 50 years, the seam of the rip will still be noticeable, but that it will flow smoothly and elegantly with the tapestry of the rest of my life.

The 25th was also a milestone for me in this long process of mending. It was simply another day, another week, another month that I have survived....and I'm doing alright.