Thursday, August 15, 2013
It's been long enough now I don't know exactly how old you would be. The intense counting and marking of days that pushed me through the first year has dissipated. I no longer notice every 14th that rolls around simply because you were born on a 14th. Although sometimes I find myself crying for no reason in the grocery store parking lot and when I look at my phone I realize it's a 14th. Missing you is so much a part of me it is always present, though most days it is background.
It's been 3 years and some months since you were born. You would be old enough to be your own person with a strongly developing personality. I was going to start you in ballet this fall. I wanted to see if you possessed skills I most definitely lack: rhythm, the ability to find a beat, and the coordination to dance to it.
So much time has passed and so many seasons and changes have come and gone I feel a growing gap between us. I watch your brother change and grow. I look at pictures from a year ago and marvel at how much he's changed. But you are frozen as my forever newborn. I hate not knowing who you would've been. Who you were meant to be.
I'm trying to figure out how the puzzle pieces that are my children fit together. You are my first, the one who made me a mama. Your brother is my light and joy. And your sister is my hope. How do I present all three of you to the world? How do I present myself - or at least the mother side of my life - to the world? How do I bind you together when your brother and sister will never know you?
I talk about you. I write about you. I don't hide the fact that you died. I try to keep your memory close enough that you are always part of our family. But it doesn't feel like enough. Probably because it isn't. I want to know what you look like. I want to enroll you in ballet. I want to know your dreams and what you want to achieve. I want to know all of the beautiful and exasperating parts of you. I wanted you to live. And if sometimes in the everyday busyness of life you feel forgotten, or moved to the side, I want you to know you are loved and missed and forever my first baby.