A Divided View: 11 Months

Eleven months ago we lived a very different life. A life which now seems to have a huge line down the center dividing it...a division of life before loss and after.

The before loss part of life is blurry in my mind to some extent, but stands out as a time of idyllic ignorance and oblivious thinking. It was a time in which I believed that somehow my planning and actions would firmly shape my life; and that as long as I didn't stray from the "path" that everything would go as hoped and planned.  This was a time before the grief fellow made his way into our lives, entangling himself in our every action and planting himself firmly in our hearts and minds.

I remember the bliss of the few weeks and days leading up to the death and birth of our sweet boy, and how innocent and stupidly happy I appeared in my "baby bump" pictures. My face was completely different in those photos. It was a fresh and peaceful face that told the story of a soon-to-be mommy of two...a mommy who was completely unaware of just how cruel life could be. How naive of me. I was utterly oblivious to the upcoming squall that would inevitably turn our world upside down.

 

 

I continue to have a constant craving to devote time to a child that I cannot hold in my arms...only my heart.  We strive to include Wyatt in our daily thoughts and conversations and still feel the pang of what could've been... Lyla draws with the color green because, "That's my brother's favorite color." I peek outside each morning in hopes that I will see a quickly spinning pinwheel, which somehow brings me a shot of comfort. Our nightly family prayers always include these sweet and thoughtful, yet painstakingly honest words from the mouth of our five year old, " I want to pray that Wyatt is safe in Heaven with Grandma, that the new baby is safe in Mommy's tummy and that we can keep this one, and that Mommy is safe too." Be still my heart.

However, I wish not to paint a picture of a weak and broken family, by merely stating the facts of our circumstances, because, believe me, we are much better people for loving and knowing our Wyatt.

Together, as a family, and in our marriage,  we have gained an understanding of each other that would not be present otherwise; we are linked with a new strength...a strength that is not found in families who are lucky enough to never have to endure this type of loss.  We have discovered the ever-growing and ever-loving support system of friends, family, and even strangers, that we are forever in debted to for their love, patience, and helping hands. And we have grown to truly appreciate the "little things" in life.

Did you happen to notice that first blue butterfly of the season fluttering by on weak wings? Or that beautiful wild flower that popped up in the middle of a field of weeds? How about how warm and refreshing the sunshine feels as it caresses your winter-laden face? Did you happen to realize the warm feeling that passes through your body as you smell a familiar and memory-filled scent such as homemade biscuits or a farm full of cows? No? That's okay...I didn't use to notice those things often enough either...that is before the line was drawn dividing my life into two distinct sections.


We are eleven months into this journey. Eleven months since we saw our "old" selves. Eleven months closer to seeing our son again.

It has been eleven months since that line was drawn...eleven months of grieving, growing, and living. Take time and smell the flowers and watch the sunset...

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.