Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Right Where I Am: Three Years, Three Months

This post is in response to Angie's project, Right Where I Am. I apologise for the rambled stream of consciousness that follows...the truth is I dont really know how I feel 3 years out from the best and worst period of my life.


Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago. Most of the time it feels like it happened to someone else. All of the time I feel like I am a different person to before.

My life now is divided into two parts. Before and After. The truth is, I can barely remember what life was like before. What was it like to live life in ignorant bliss? What was it like to not know how it felt to bury your child?

And recently all I have been thinking is: if Star had never died, Manny would never have lived. My baby's death is so closely linked with my other baby's life, the two can never be separated. This thought has been going around in my head for over a week now. The greatest joy in my life, could not have existed without the greatest sadness in my life. It hurts my brain just to think about it.

I do remember the early days. I have written about them before. About how liberating it was, the freedom to grieve openly. The freedom to hole myself up in my home and ignore the world. The freedom to lie on the floor and scream and sob at the top of my lungs regardless of who might hear me. I miss being able to be so raw - so openly bereaved.

As time marched on, and particularly after Manny's birth, the expectation was that everything was "better" now. I remember 8 months out, on the 27th of the month, my mother asked me what was wrong. I told her the 27th is a hard day for me. Her response was "what, every month!?!" I was dumbfounded. My own mother expected I should be "over it" after only 8 months.

Now, over three years out, I cry less. I think of him frequently, but I do not cry. I talk about him all the time, but I do not cry. I pull out his photos and stare at him, but I do not cry.

Some nights, late at night when everyone else is in bed, I think of him and cry. But the tears are no longer racking my body with sobs. They are silent tears that simply fall from my eyes of their own accord and soak my pillow.

Three years out, my eldest has weaved his baby brother into the fabric of his life. Every now and then he mentions his name in passing...and it reminds me. He was here. He left his footprint on this earth. He wasn't just a part of me, he is a part of our family.

We do not cry for him anymore. But we love him with every beat of our hearts.

7 comments:

  1. The silent tears, YES, absolutely. That is it. Thank you for sharing right where you are. xo

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  2. This is it. This is so it. I'm almost at three months out, and we also welcomed another baby very soon after the one we lost. This post really hit home for me and summed up "three years" just perfectly. So glad I visited here today, though I wish I really didn't have a reason to.
    Missing Star with you.
    xo

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  3. This is beautiful, and heartwrenching. Thanks for sharing this...

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  4. We do not cry for him anymore. But we love him with every beat of our hearts.

    I'm three years out too and that line sums it up perfectly. Thank you.

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  5. I'm almost three years out, too, and so much of what you write has me nodding along. That division of before and after - oh, my, yes. I'm so sorry your starbaby isn't in your arms, and so grateful to you for sharing this post.

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  6. I'm so sorry. Your little Star was such a beautiful baby and is still a beloved part of your family. This post is so full of love.

    I'm at a similar position, nearly three years out, and I also find I can hardly remember my life 'before.'

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  7. I don't know if you'll see my comment - I am so late getting round Angie's brilliant project. Like your own commenters, I'm at a similar timeframe (2.75 years) and this is how it is. I miss, I yearn, her existence is woven into my very being.

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