You Slipped Away Before I Ever Got To Hold You

There’s a little something that pulls at my heart this time of year.

I don’t talk about this stuff very much any more. I talked and talked and talked about it a lot for awhile. I even mentioned it a few straggling times once I’d mostly grown quiet about it. A lot of friends and strangers questioned my resistance to healing. I don’t know if this is just something about me, an excessive emotionality that disallows me from ever really letting go of the deepest pains.

Maybe everyone is like this. Maybe you are. Maybe you aren’t.

It still hurts me at this time of year when I think about the babies who are not here, the one who was due on Christmas Eve, the one who quietly died in my womb in December and then had to be removed. Two of my kids won’t get presents from Santa this month, nothing to do with being naughty. They just didn’t make it. They never had a chance to be naughty. They slipped away before I ever had a chance to hold either of them.

I’ve always loved Christmas. I still do. But this little something pulls at my heart now too. It’s a melancholy kind of joy I feel nowadays during the holidays.

I choose to feel the happiness of the season, because most of the time, I do have a choice.

But when the tears come, I let them take over for awhile. That’s a choice, too. A mostly healthy one, I think, regardless of what anyone else might believe. When they dry up again, I hold onto all the joy I can find, and while I let the pain visit, the joy is where I remind myself to dwell.

May you all find the greatest joys and dwell in them for the rest of this year and into the New Year. xo

Sharing my joy.

Every single time I look at these, I feel pure joy. Thought I’d share that with all of you.
You don’t mind a little joy in your life today, do you? *wink*

Happy Saturday!

chocolate happiness

His very first cone of ice cream to eat all on his own was a waffle cone bigger than his head. He loved it deeply.

It loved him back. They became one in a melty explosion of chocolate toddler happiness.

You just can’t stand in the way of a love so deep (and sticky) as this – you just put it outside, watch the sweet carnage unfold, laugh and take lots of photos.

Mark it down on the list of fun stuff I’ll miss witnessing one day.

when he’s not handing me boogers

my son is a super secret spy.

he is an agent who seeks answers hidden in dark places with the desire to solve outrageous mysteries

he has to be in top physical shape to get in and out of the dangerous places he’s drawn to

he is always aware of his surroundings, noticing tiny details that even the best, most intelligent operatives might overlook, spotting things of great importance

he plucks precious treasures from their hiding places, with a clear understanding of what must be done

and turns them over only to she whom he most trusts, knowing that his mission is completed by this hand-off

then he slips away to the next daring adventure, leaving his leading lady with a smile on her face.

Pain and joy mingle.

We purchased this year’s tree on a Sunday while John was home for a day.  That night, I put the lights on it.  The smell of a real Christmas tree is something I love so much that I don’t exactly know how to put it into words.  The olfactory sense can trigger some of the strongest sense memories we have, and I think this smell is linked into the magic and joy that laces my memories of Christmas as a child.  We never had a fake tree, so when I smelled this smell – a real pine, cedar, or fir – it meant Christmas was coming.  And that meant magic, love, and light.  It meant my soul would lift and float for awhile.

This year, before we bought our tree, I went in search of something I’ve had in a cabinet all year long.  It is a glass spice bottle with a black plastic lid.  The glass is very heavy, and the plastic is thick and sturdy.  It appeals to me in some way, and so I saved it to use for something when the spice ran out.  I had no idea when I put it aside that later I’d be gathering fallen needles to place inside.

Last year, I lost a baby (Davin) right at three months into the pregnancy.  It was my second miscarriage of the year and, for many reasons, it throttled me in different and harder ways than had the first one (in April).

I found out on December 9th during a prenatal appointment that he had died.  A D&C to remove Davin from my womb was scheduled for December 16th.

I had carried him for a week, knowing he was no longer alive.  It was both maddening and oddly comforting.  On the one hand, I felt insane knowing he was inside of me and he was not alive; my body was incapable of doing anything to help him.  On the other hand, I got to be with him and say goodbye, come to terms with him being removed.

On December 15th, the day before the surgery, I asked John to go get a tree.  I didn’t tell him, but I wanted that tree in the house with all 4 of us.  That’s how it was supposed to be, and in my fractured state of being, I was going to have it that way, regardless.

When last year’s tree came into our home with all of its wonderful smelling glory my child was still inside of me.  The next day, he was all the way gone.  I was sedated for some time after that.  When the pills ran out there was still wine and liquor.  I got tipsy regularly; I ate crappy food.  No matter what I ingested, I was empty.

I was empty in more ways than the one that made my uterus ache as it healed.

That tree sat in the living room with me.  I watched those lights flash and dance through my bleary eyes.  I sat here, numb, with that happy smell.  Each day rolled by and I tried whenever I could to enjoy them, even if it was an altered, forced experience.

I cried a lot.  I was angry and sad.  A lot of days I was just nothing.

The tree was there.

At some time way past Christmas there came a point when I had to admit that the tree was dried out and needed to be taken away.  I cried about that, too.

When that tree came into my house, I still had my baby inside of me.  Now the tree was about to leave, and I had to keep a part of it, because somehow, it was the last thing I could hold onto about Davin.  Is that crazy?

I got down on my hands and knees with that damn spice bottle and I gathered up fallen needles until it was full.  Then I put it in one of my kitchen cabinets.

Only a couple of times during the year, when my heart ached the very most for Davin, I went and opened that bottle.  I held it, smooth, cool and heavy, in my hand.  In my fingers, it felt strong when I felt weak.  I stared at the needles.  I opened the bottle and smelled.

Pain and joy mingle together in that smell for me now.

Not long before we got our tree this year, I went for that bottle for the first time in quite a while.  When I smelled it, I wept for my lost son.  The smell was still very strong and crisp.  It wrapped me up; it sang to me of both sorrow and delight.  Afterwards, I felt a sort of peace.

I put the bottle out as the very first Christmas decoration in our home this year.

I will think of them both every Christmas: the baby who we thought would be born in December 08 as well as the baby who died in December 08.  I don’t think I’ll ever smell that happy smell or watch those dancing lights again without a twinge of sorrow.  But I believe I will always still smile at them, as well.

Pain and joy mingle together, and that is not such a bad thing to experience, or acknowledge.

It is far better than pain sitting in the heart by itself.

Excuses just for the hell of it.

Well, I’ll be damned.  There was no Haiku Friday post here today.  I have to admit that I was planning on writing one on Thursday night, but then I got completely sidetracked by this post and then totally shit-kicked (in a good way) by this one.  Both are thought-provoking, exceptionally good reads, both in body and comments.

So, basically, you can blame Loralee and Catherine for my lack of Haiku Friday post.  (Because I know you were just sobbing and clawing at your face today because your life felt empty when you realized there was no Sarcastic Mom Haiku Friday post.)

Oh, and today (Friday) we actually exercised (OH, HELL. ALERT THE NEWS).  We hit the Brentwood YMCA (love that facility) and Braden had a super fab time in the nursery with other kiddos his age while John and I sweated like fat pigs on the treadmills.

I checked out the pools and the smell was so wonderful.  Yes, I know that sounds weird.  I used to swim a lot, and haven’t done it seriously in a long time.  Guess what I’m planning on taking up again immediately?  Momma’s gonna build her Aqua Lungs again.  Watch out.

And even on a kind of gloomy, off-and-on-again rainy day?  We found joy.  Braden got to paint for the first time ever.  I promise to show you more on that topic soon.  Cute as hell, I tell you.

I did post another article over at Examiner on Thursday night – it’s about Earth Hour.  Do you know about that?  If you don’t, check it out, and make plans in your area.

And if you’re having a hard time thinking of things to do in the dark for an hour, boy have I got some suggestions for you.

Peace out.

And yes, I can figure out how to make anything into a tribute to him. Neener.

Today’s Photohunt Theme is “Four”

A Braden burrito, one hand sticking out
Just four days old… fuzzy head, little pout
Sleeping so soundly, a thief in the night
Stealing our hearts while we put up no fight

After four weeks of learning, he pursed his lips well
And our stolen hearts continued to swell
Just beginning the journey of parenthood
Much already learned, much still not understood

In four short months time it became very clear
Nothing else had ever been so very dear
Or so frustrating right in the very same minute
Your patience is tested and pushed to the limit!

We have not yet gotten to the next four in line
only half-way there, but there’s plenty of time
No need to rush things or hope time would move fast
I’d rather cling and make each moment last

But by now we’ve learned that it never ends
The journey of parents just stretches and bends
Every challenge is met, then a new one appears
Little victories fade, and there will be new tears

But for every moment that passes a new wonder is born
Your spirit is lifted even as it is torn
The child will bring joy, laughter and mirth
To each piece of your life, every day after birth.

For all the fours had so far
And those still to come
I am blessed and happy
That he is my son.

It’s for me, even if I don’t know why.

Feeling pretty peaceful today. I watched a creeped out movie last night by myself (Dead Silence) which is something I like to do (watch creeped out movies, not by myself, particularly). Somehow, I made it through the night. Usually, I end up imagining only 5 less than 1,074 ways I’m going to die the night after I watch something like that alone. Seriously, don’t watch crap like The Ring or The Grudge by yourself. Or be by yourself ever again after you watch them. (Kids in the house don’t count, they’re worthless during a ghost or demon attack.)

I digress. The main point being pushed aside by my blathering is that I slept really well last night. My fingers never touched my keyboard after 9:30pm – a rarity. Woke up this morning and listened to Braden playing in his room (in his crib) until he sounded the cranky “Come Get Me NOW” alarm. Then I stripped him of PJs and we went downstairs for breakfast. Some days I just let him run around while he eats instead of sitting at the table. I know, bad eating habits and all that (blah blah blah bahl). It’s the exception rather than the norm, so I don’t buy that bunk.

He’s been running around naked, laughing his little dimples into a frenzy over Teletubbies, and shoving banana chunks, wheat chex, and rice milk down his little throat. He ran over to the television screen a while ago, pointed (so close he was touching it) and said, “weeeeehhhhdddd!!!” He was right. It was completely red, with the red Teletubby standing in the middle of it. He’s been showing an intense interest in letters, numbers, shapes, and colors lately. I don’t push it, but I answer all his questions. And I kind of stand back, observing his brilliance, then reinforcing his enthusiasm. It amazes me, makes me proud. Of course, I’m also proud every time he announces, “aaahhhrt!” (fart) and “buuuhhhp!” (burp)

I dropped onto the couch after eating my granola bars and drinking my coffee, to continue watching him parade around in laughter at these odd, annoying, little colored creatures dancing around on my television screen. Braden’s sick right now, so he’s a bit more snugglie than usual. He ran over to the couch, flashed his dimples at me, and then crawled up and inserted himself into the empty space on my torso, pressing his face into my chest. I watched him while he watched TV. And I felt so lucky.

Here I am, laying on this couch with a full belly, and I get to touch his soft skin. I get to look at his adorable face, and kiss his sweet cheek. He wants me to hold him close. And I get to. Other than John (when he’s here) I’m the only one who gets to enjoy Braden’s sweetness in this way. I’m the only one who gets to hold him in an embrace like this, savoring his sweet smell, knowing that he loves me.

I’m the only one (most of the time) who gets to see him doing things like this:

I’m the only one who gets to see his cute and funny little dances this morning, and receive his hugs full of love and confidence. For that, though I see no reason why I deserve it, I am infinitely thankful.

No snark today, folks. Just blessings for your Friday. Here’s hoping your week wraps up pleasantly.