Friday, April 2, 2010

Thinking of Angels

Often enough in baby-lost blog land it's been commented that the not-babylost crowd really 'doesn't know how we'd survive it'. And I've said that myself. I can't imagine how I would go on if one of my children were to die before me. And I've also heard it discussed (and thought to myself) what might be worse, losing a term infant, a young child, a teenager about to step off into the world, or an adult child. I find those conversations a bit useless, it's all fucking awful. Pain should never be compared - it all hurts.  And, as a human mother who has survived my share of heartache and trauma, I know that when I say 'I don't know how I'd survive', what I mean is that I don't want to have to find out.

And universe, I want to die before my children, but not before they still need me. Picky, I know.

April 3rd is a cruel day in my opinion. Two years ago, a baby named Baker was almost born, but then died. To labor and not come home with a live baby, unimaginable. Twelve years ago, my childhood friend Robert was stabbed once in the back outside a night club. He fell to the ground and bled out. There were over 50 on-lookers but to date no-one has been brought to justice for his murder. He was 18. So tonight I am sending so much love to these families, marking yet another year gone by.

I have to believe that the animus that is a human spirit continues after the body ceases to function. I know that in the months after Robert's death I would sometimes feel him with me, so close it was palpable. I know I see Baker in my son's laughter. I've taught my daughter that in the retelling of stories and memories we keep the spirit of those who have passed on alive within us. On the eve of Easter, I'd like to think that I can keep these two spirits alive in a way, resurrected from faint memory.

And I pray that I will never know the sorrow of a childless mother, walking the earth without her heart here on earth. And I pray that I will always be humble and human enough to know that I can become that woman, so quickly, so easily. So I am thankful that my heart walks this earth with me. For now.


  1. You've literally brought tears to my eyes. I called you tonight asking what size B wears now, because I have to get rid of the "spawn of evil" t-shirt I bought because it was the only one left at hot topic and I thought to myself, "I better get this now, just in case" It's easy to say "I've made my peace with my infertility." but I think that any woman in my position would probably agree with me when I say I walk this earth wondering what my heart would feel like if it were here. That's not meant to sound dramatic. Because most of the time, I can successfully not think about it. And then something happens. You touch upon something in a Reiki session or you watch a movie or you read a blogpost and you feel it, that unanswered curiousity. I love, treasure and envy you all at once.

  2. Thank you, Mira, for honoring and remembering Baker with me. I have been quiet since Alden's birth, just reveling in all that he is and feeling a constant sigh of relief that he is here and alive. But Baker's quiet spirit is there with us, and I am thankful for the moments when I can almost feel him playing alongside his brother.