6 years ago I celebrated Mother's Day with no baby in my arms. Sam had died 2 weeks before. The year after that, I was pregnant with Mira and still had no baby to hold. The year after, Mira gave me the gift of the stomach flu. ;) The last few years have been fairly "normal" with the exception that one of my children was not there. And this year, I will celebrate with half of my children.
There is nothing easy about this.
One thing I grieve is I will never have all of my children in one picture. I asked the photographer to take one with Mira and Edward when they came to visit us at the hospital. I'd said, I don't care if it's crazy or no one is looking. I just want one with us as a family of 5.
That's what we have. One picture of the 5 of us.
One.
We're a family of six, but out and about we look like four. We don't look like our hands are full with just the two. We don't know what it's like to juggle a baby carrier while chasing down the 2 year old and yelling for the 4 year old to just GET IN THE CAR. We have no idea what three kids 4 and under feels like.
What we do know is that as we strap Mira and Edward into their car seats each time we leave the house, we carry the weight of their two brothers. We carry a would-be 6 year old and a newborn around with us. They're heavy. We can't drop them off with anyone and "escape it all." Escape the grief in our hearts. The sadness that never leaves. The noise in our heads that tells us, there should be more here. They are with us. Always.
I've looked around in the past and sworn I've lost one of my kids. Counted the both of them, and thought, "Where's the other one?" before remembering. It's so weird because it's not as if Sam and Gabriel have ever been here to chase. But my Momma heart counts. Counts again. And sinks when it realizes that yes, the ones I'm looking for just aren't here.
I've considered how I sound at times. I keep thinking (and I've been told), But you have these two. They're such a blessing. Be grateful for them.
That's the thing though. I'm grateful. More grateful than you know. That doesn't take away from the fact that two of them are gone. My house should be crazier. Messier. I should have a little boy running through the door after school, almost finished with his first year of kindergarten. I should have a tiny boy shrieking bloody murder for another bottle. I should have bags under my eyes because he's kept me up in the middle of the night.
Really though, I should still be pregnant. 34 weeks. I should be waddling around, complaining about heartburn and how hard it is to roll out of bed. I should be eyeing the finish line of bringing home my 3rd son. Instead I write about what I thought was heartburn turning into an emergency c-section, and it's hard getting out of bed because I haven't completely healed from it yet.
Gabriel would be 4 weeks old on Mother's Day. This day of celebration with my two here is also a day of sadness for my two gone.
I don't know how I'll feel Sunday, and I don't want to have any expectations. I may have a good day, and the grief may not be as intense. Or I may have a day where I just cannot muster the energy to get out of bed. I may need to lay and cry for the little faces I'll never get to kiss again this side of Heaven. When you take each moment by moment, you cannot trust that a normally joy-filled day won't be filled with overwhelming grief.
I wish it wasn't like this.
There is nothing easy about this.
One thing I grieve is I will never have all of my children in one picture. I asked the photographer to take one with Mira and Edward when they came to visit us at the hospital. I'd said, I don't care if it's crazy or no one is looking. I just want one with us as a family of 5.
That's what we have. One picture of the 5 of us.
One.
We're a family of six, but out and about we look like four. We don't look like our hands are full with just the two. We don't know what it's like to juggle a baby carrier while chasing down the 2 year old and yelling for the 4 year old to just GET IN THE CAR. We have no idea what three kids 4 and under feels like.
What we do know is that as we strap Mira and Edward into their car seats each time we leave the house, we carry the weight of their two brothers. We carry a would-be 6 year old and a newborn around with us. They're heavy. We can't drop them off with anyone and "escape it all." Escape the grief in our hearts. The sadness that never leaves. The noise in our heads that tells us, there should be more here. They are with us. Always.
I've looked around in the past and sworn I've lost one of my kids. Counted the both of them, and thought, "Where's the other one?" before remembering. It's so weird because it's not as if Sam and Gabriel have ever been here to chase. But my Momma heart counts. Counts again. And sinks when it realizes that yes, the ones I'm looking for just aren't here.
I've considered how I sound at times. I keep thinking (and I've been told), But you have these two. They're such a blessing. Be grateful for them.
That's the thing though. I'm grateful. More grateful than you know. That doesn't take away from the fact that two of them are gone. My house should be crazier. Messier. I should have a little boy running through the door after school, almost finished with his first year of kindergarten. I should have a tiny boy shrieking bloody murder for another bottle. I should have bags under my eyes because he's kept me up in the middle of the night.
Really though, I should still be pregnant. 34 weeks. I should be waddling around, complaining about heartburn and how hard it is to roll out of bed. I should be eyeing the finish line of bringing home my 3rd son. Instead I write about what I thought was heartburn turning into an emergency c-section, and it's hard getting out of bed because I haven't completely healed from it yet.
Gabriel would be 4 weeks old on Mother's Day. This day of celebration with my two here is also a day of sadness for my two gone.
I don't know how I'll feel Sunday, and I don't want to have any expectations. I may have a good day, and the grief may not be as intense. Or I may have a day where I just cannot muster the energy to get out of bed. I may need to lay and cry for the little faces I'll never get to kiss again this side of Heaven. When you take each moment by moment, you cannot trust that a normally joy-filled day won't be filled with overwhelming grief.
I wish it wasn't like this.
I wish it wasn’t also! 👨👩👧👦😇😇 hugs
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