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Monday, February 09, 2009
Perhaps he just wants to forget. Forget it ever happened, forget that his son was more like a morning mist, lingering for just a moment and then drifting away…as if it never were. Perhaps his forgetting would make it easier on him, help him to cope with the horror of it. I don’t want to forget. I want to tell everyone that I had a little boy once whose name was Logan and he had beautiful lips. I want the world to know that I have two children. I feel so alone and empty. I still feel his kicking every night. I lay there in bed at night and I rub my now empty fleshy stomach where my son once was, and it’s a cruel reminder that he’s gone. That the kicking I feel is no more than ghost pains. I can not fathom the reality that is mine. I can not accept that my child is no longer coming in May. He was here, and now he is gone. I can not grasp that life slips by so easily. I can not for the life of me understand why this loving God, everyone is so quick to remind me of, chose to give and then take away so hastily. I have so many tears for my little boy, so much heart ache and yearning that I have such a hard time even comprehending as my own feelings. I’m still bewildered. I keep hoping maybe I’ll gain some truth and understanding of it all, but I’m afraid to even search for the answers. I’m terrified of the prospect of not having more children, and I’m even more terrified of loosing more. Why? Why me, why us, why our son Lord? I was a good Mommy. I wanted that little boy with all of my heart, even in the midst of my terror at having two children so young and close in age. Why not take someone’s little boy who isn’t wanted? Why my little boy? Why leave me with such a gaping wound that I can’t fill, that my beloved can’t fill? Why leave me with so much pain that I am afraid of my own bed? The pain creaps up on me at night. I lay there and dream, and wish, and remember every tiny morsel of that precious baby. I cruise through my days shoving every thought of Logan to the deep recesses of my mind so that I may enjoy my daughter, enjoy my husband and enjoy the other things in life. And every night I am reminded of what I lost.
I need to hear you say you won’t forget, that you don’t want to forget. I need to know that others won’t forget my son either. A son they never met. I need more love than I think there is on this earth, like if I was smothered by it perhaps it would smother the sadness too. How do you beg for someone else to make your pain go away? How do you explain to the other side of your heart that you need him to make it better, especially when you know he’s in the trenches with you? I’d hide inside of your skin if I could. Don’t lay with your back to me. Touch me, tell me we’ll get through this together because I honestly just don’t know. I need so many hugs, so many ‘I love you’ caresses, words and looks. I need to know you feel it too, that it’s not just me who lost a son. Tell me how you let your mind be free. How you made your tears stop. How you face the night. Tell me how I’ll ever be able to live with these memories, this knowledge that a huge part of me is missing? We should be four. We were four. We have a family picture, and we are four. So why now are we three? Why does Logan feel like a lifetime ago already? How do you cope? How do you forget? I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to remember. I want my son. I want him back inside of me growing and healthy and being impatiently awaited by this family. I want to feel his kicking, real kicks. I want to see his alien like shape in future ultrasounds, I want to hear his tiny heart beating with life. I want to make plans and more dreams and I want them to come true. I want that bedroom to be blue and green and waiting for Logan to grow up in it. I want to feel that innocent perfection that my life held just a few short weeks ago. I’m tired of the crushing sadness. I’m tired of the emptiness that only a mother can feel after the life she had growing in her suddenly ceases to exist. I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m lonely. I’m empty. I miss my son with everything that I am, and I didn’t even get to know him. I bet he’d have been smart like his daddy. I bet he’d have had the same sandy blond curls. I bet he’d have been sarcastic, and impish, and inquisitive and full of laughter and up to no good. I bet he’d have bounced when he walked. I bet he’d have loved me like only a boy can love his mommy. I bet he’d have been tough, and had his daddy’s smile. He would have loved fishing, and Lego’s and being dirty. He would have wanted to be just like his daddy. My heart shatters with these dreams. I will never know who my son would have been, I can only dream. And what good is a dream other than to bring more sadness to my aching heart?
Perhaps he just wants to forget. Forget it ever happened, forget that his son was more like a morning mist, lingering for just a moment and then drifting away…as if it never were. Perhaps his forgetting would make it easier on him, help him to cope with the horror of it. I don’t want to forget. I want to tell everyone that I had a little boy once whose name was Logan and he had beautiful lips. I want the world to know that I have two children. I feel so alone and empty. I still feel his kicking every night. I lay there in bed at night and I rub my now empty fleshy stomach where my son once was, and it’s a cruel reminder that he’s gone. That the kicking I feel is no more than ghost pains. I can not fathom the reality that is mine. I can not accept that my child is no longer coming in May. He was here, and now he is gone. I can not grasp that life slips by so easily. I can not for the life of me understand why this loving God, everyone is so quick to remind me of, chose to give and then take away so hastily. I have so many tears for my little boy, so much heart ache and yearning that I have such a hard time even comprehending as my own feelings. I’m still bewildered. I keep hoping maybe I’ll gain some truth and understanding of it all, but I’m afraid to even search for the answers. I’m terrified of the prospect of not having more children, and I’m even more terrified of loosing more. Why? Why me, why us, why our son Lord? I was a good Mommy. I wanted that little boy with all of my heart, even in the midst of my terror at having two children so young and close in age. Why not take someone’s little boy who isn’t wanted? Why my little boy? Why leave me with such a gaping wound that I can’t fill, that my beloved can’t fill? Why leave me with so much pain that I am afraid of my own bed? The pain creaps up on me at night. I lay there and dream, and wish, and remember every tiny morsel of that precious baby. I cruise through my days shoving every thought of Logan to the deep recesses of my mind so that I may enjoy my daughter, enjoy my husband and enjoy the other things in life. And every night I am reminded of what I lost.
I need to hear you say you won’t forget, that you don’t want to forget. I need to know that others won’t forget my son either. A son they never met. I need more love than I think there is on this earth, like if I was smothered by it perhaps it would smother the sadness too. How do you beg for someone else to make your pain go away? How do you explain to the other side of your heart that you need him to make it better, especially when you know he’s in the trenches with you? I’d hide inside of your skin if I could. Don’t lay with your back to me. Touch me, tell me we’ll get through this together because I honestly just don’t know. I need so many hugs, so many ‘I love you’ caresses, words and looks. I need to know you feel it too, that it’s not just me who lost a son. Tell me how you let your mind be free. How you made your tears stop. How you face the night. Tell me how I’ll ever be able to live with these memories, this knowledge that a huge part of me is missing? We should be four. We were four. We have a family picture, and we are four. So why now are we three? Why does Logan feel like a lifetime ago already? How do you cope? How do you forget? I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to remember. I want my son. I want him back inside of me growing and healthy and being impatiently awaited by this family. I want to feel his kicking, real kicks. I want to see his alien like shape in future ultrasounds, I want to hear his tiny heart beating with life. I want to make plans and more dreams and I want them to come true. I want that bedroom to be blue and green and waiting for Logan to grow up in it. I want to feel that innocent perfection that my life held just a few short weeks ago. I’m tired of the crushing sadness. I’m tired of the emptiness that only a mother can feel after the life she had growing in her suddenly ceases to exist. I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m lonely. I’m empty. I miss my son with everything that I am, and I didn’t even get to know him. I bet he’d have been smart like his daddy. I bet he’d have had the same sandy blond curls. I bet he’d have been sarcastic, and impish, and inquisitive and full of laughter and up to no good. I bet he’d have bounced when he walked. I bet he’d have loved me like only a boy can love his mommy. I bet he’d have been tough, and had his daddy’s smile. He would have loved fishing, and Lego’s and being dirty. He would have wanted to be just like his daddy. My heart shatters with these dreams. I will never know who my son would have been, I can only dream. And what good is a dream other than to bring more sadness to my aching heart?
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