Celebration

Owen, today I am going to try to celebrate you.

To remember only how it felt to hold you in my arms. To remember the love and joy, yes joy, I felt when I gazed at your face for the first time. The sadness and sorrow came before and after, in those moments there was only a love so all encompassing that I knew I was in the presence of something larger than myself.

Owen, I had been so afraid of what would happen in those moments- would I be able to look at you, hold you, love you? But when I saw you, it was like looking at the face of G-d. You were so beautiful. You were perfect. You were an angel on earth. I am thankful that for a short while you were mine to hold.

Happy Birthday little man.

Frozen

Two years ago today I woke up and knew he was gone. I tried to pretend for as long as I could, but I knew. I still feel physically sick when I allow myself to remember how in instant I knew I was suddenly alone. That knowing was the worst part and in some ways I have been alone ever since. Although Owen was born tomorrow, today is the day I lost him. This is the second anniversary of the worst day of my life.

All those terrible moments, just frozen in my mind. I wonder will this day always be like this?

Waiting

We went to the cemetery this weekend again. I like that J & K get more and more comfortable there. Is that wrong? We planted some new flowers for him and cleaned his stone. Its morbid but I can't help but wonder what if anything is left of him.


It will be two years on July 30. God, two years, how did that happen? I remember him and I wonder how I kept going, how I keep going; how life kept on, keeps on moving. At the same time, I know there is a part of me that is frozen there. A part of me that will continue to relive July 29 & 30 2007 for the rest of my life. As if somehow, sometime I will remember those days with a different ending. One where I get to keep my baby boy.

Breath

It still takes my breath away when I think about what happened, what I lost. The memories are different now, fuzzier around the edges. I think about it sometimes almost like watching a movie. I remember each detail but in a softer way.

All too often I find myself remembering and feeling sorry for that poor poor woman and then it hits me again like a brick wall.

That poor woman was me, is me.

I gave birth on that day to a beautiful little boy with dark hair and big feet. He was perfect and he was dead.

I loved him.

I love him.

It takes my breath away.