It was one month ago our little one that wasn't to be, left me. I'm guessing this past month, and probably the month that I would have been due - November - will be the worst months, as far as grief. But it's really interesting something that I have learned about grief - it can be intertwined with the purest sweetness there is in this life.
When my dad died, my friends rallied around me. Unbeknownst to me, they made a schedule and took shifts checking on me, being with me. It was during this time of grief that my friendship with Kevin became deeper, more meaningful, more precious. He would lay with me on my bed - a top bunk in a dorm room no bigger than a closet - and just be with me as we watched movies or listened to music. Nothing physical ever happened, except sometimes some hand holding or I would lay my head on his chest - but the closeness I felt to him was special. It helped me, and it was pure sweetness intertwined with my grief.
With our baby loss, again friends rallied around me. Prayers, hugs, tears, cards, care packages, flowers, books, meals. We felt loved, we felt buoyed. It helped us get through it - there is no doubt about that and I don't know what I would have done without it. It has convinced me that in my lifetime, I must, I must be there for others in their times of need, as my dear ones were for me. It was pure sweetness.
This loss has also created a deeper closeness within my little family, especially within my relationship with Taylor. Tatie and I both took it the hardest I think, and we feel a kinship in that. We lay together a lot and talk about the baby, hold hands, sometimes pray, sometimes laugh with a tickle fight to break up the seriousness. Last week I had a particularly bad night. I had read them a book they have requested frequently, which was given to us by a good friend. It is a childrens' book about heaven, written from the perspective of a little boy who died and he says he actually went there and this is what he saw. I cried my way through it, I couldn't help it. It's a beautiful book and it paints such a lovely picture of what the future will bring for us, and what it is like for my little baby there now. I tucked in the girls and poured myself a big glass of wine and laid on the couch in the dark, crying. Tater came out and I hugged her and told her I was fine, go to bed honey. But then she asked if she could lay with me and listen to my heartbeat and I said yes...and she did and we both fell asleep. As I drifted off, smelling her freshly washed hair and touching her smooth forehead, I gave thanks for all I have, and I felt such peace. I was still sad, but I had joy, gratitude and love in my heart. Laying there with my daughter, the one who I used to pray would learn how to really love others and now her love was overflowing, was pure sweetness.
It's interesting to me how the heart can feel broken, and yet full of love at the same time. How is something broken yet full? Shattered but bursting? Maybe my heart isn't broken, maybe just torn...and there will always be a scar there. A jagged, noticeable scar that will make some people ask, "what is that from?" But more that, I hope my heart can continue to grow, continue to feel full with love for others. I want to honor my baby...that his or her life was important, not in vain. And that too, would be pure sweetness.
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