Grief is hard. It's exhausting and unpredictable. Some days are okay. Never good, but okay. But then some random trigger comes and throws everything off. And it's so hard to get your footing back. Today, I wanted so desperately to celebrate Dean. Four years ago today, we brought his tiny little 5 pound self home, nearly 3 months old. We were scared and unsure. I remember holding him in the rocking chair for the first time with tears streaming down my face. Though, not quite tears of joy or gratitude. More tears of grief, recognizing all at once a lifetime of little memories I would never have with Reagan. Knowing all the more that, no matter how many children we had, no one could ever fill the hole she left behind. Today, I wanted Dean to feel special, to feel loved, to pick out a special lunch, dinner, dessert, and activity. And instead, I spent much of the day fighting with doctors offices, trying to get things working again after the hurricane, and sick in bed. I felt like a failure as a mommy. I had great expectations, but I disappointed him. And yet, we snuggled in tonight, in that same rocking chair, and read books. And he called me back in for just 1 more goodnight kiss. Children, well, they are full of grace. My sweet Dean.
Today had the added emotion of being the day we expected Lucas to be born. I remember Reagan's due date coming and being a wreck. I was newly on bedrest with the boys, just discharged from the hospital, and told to come home and call when "it" (aka my miscarriage) happened. That's how sure these doctors were. I had to be medicated to get through the day. It was bad. With Lucas, his due date meant nothing to us, we didn't even put it on our calendars. But, we had this c-section planned. For today. This morning, I fully expected to walk into the hospital and calmly tell the nurses that I was there to have a baby. We had it all planned and thought out. Countdown was on for THIS day. And so, today I was reminded yet again of how I failed another child. I keep going back and trying to figure out what I could have done differently. Wondering if we missed something at our ultrasound that Monday. Was there any way we could have prevented it? I tell myself no, but I just don't quite believe it.
I sat for a bit in Lucas' nursery today. Looked at all his things that he would never use. Wondered what it would feel like to hold him again. To hear his cry. Hannah woke up right after this and cried out for me - what would that be like? Then she wrapped her little arms around my neck and settled in for a post nap snuggle. All these sweet and tender moments we take for granted. Would Lucas have sucked his thumb too? Or would he have been addicted to his paci like his brothers? I'll never know. What would it be like to hear him call me mommy, to hear him say "I love you." Right now, he should be about 12 hours old, not 3 months. Now, I should start the sleepless nights and feeling so overwhelmed with figuring out how to balance the needs of a newborn with the vulnerability of a toddler with the growing curiosity of a pair of preschoolers. Instead, I am sitting in this empty space. All I have left is a hurricane-destroyed garden planted in memory of my son. I am broken. Still angry, confused, hurting. But mostly broken.
And here is where I would normally say something about peace and God's grace. Only today, I am not strong enough. I KNOW Lucas is being loved and cared for, and I wish that brought me more peace than it does at this moment. Right now, I just want him with ME. Selfish? Sure. But that's where my heart is, just longing and missing my sweet boy more than anything else. I'm tired of the grief, of the reminders, of knowing all that I will be missing. I know the road ahead, because I was STILL walking it with Reagan when Lucas died. I don't quite know how to be me anymore, how to go forward from here. It's all just so hard.
