Tags
a mothers burden, a mothers loss, a mothers love, baby loss, child loss, dreams, gaybies, Girl Crush, grief, healing, hope, inspiration, lesbian family, lesbian stillbirth, Little Big Town, love, Pain Killer, poem, Radio, shared grief, should you go first, Single, Spins, stillbirth, stillborn, TTC, two moms
First I have to say that I cannot take Little Big Town’s single, Girl Crush, off of repeat. I love ballads, and even though country fans apparently have a BIG issue with the title, it is not a lesbian song. People REALLY need to learn to relax a bit and get over it. All I can say is that I love it. I hope that it ends up being a hit for them even though stations seem to be pulling it left and right from rotation.
It’s late, as usual. Nikki and Charlie are both sound asleep and I am staring a computer screen while I should be trying to snooze as well. Apparently I never learn.
We dropped Charlie off at Granny and Papa’s tonight so we could get the shopping done for her Easter basket and we also had to run by Hobby Lobby to get some new knobs for our newly primed and painted bathroom cabinet. It was a lightwood color prior with silver knobs. What do you think? I will have to see if I have a good shot of the new bathroom color as well. Please note, we still have to totally redecorate so it looks rather plain.
So I wrote that some days are better than others and that yesterday was a “someday” kind of day. When we got into bed last night, we ended up talking about Thatcher and looking at his pictures and of course the water works kicked off with a bang. Despite the tears, yesterday was still a “someday” and so was today. I still feel horribly guilty for having good days. I think to myself, who honestly has good days when they have lost their child? Seriously?
I cannot help but think about what Thatcher would have looked like as a child and for some reason today, I have thought a lot about what he would have looked like as a man. I am 5’9 and our donor is 6’, so I envision him being tall with broad shoulders, blue eyes, and dirty blonde hair. Hopefully he would get the donor’s weight genes and not my own, but that is something we will never know. I wonder about the type of child he would be, and teenager, and what type of man he would become. I think these are all thoughts I had before we even lost him, but they are things I cannot get out of my mind now.
I hope he would have been kind and polite, soft spoken, but not one to be pushed around or taken advantage of. I hope he would have taken up for others who might not have been able to do so for themselves, and I hope that he would have been the kind of man that would have looked for the good in others instead of the bad. I hope he would have been happy with his life and with his family. I hope that he would have felt that he lived a meaningful life and felt that he made a difference. I hope he would have always known how much his mothers’ and his sister loved him, and carried that with him always.
When I think about him at this moment, I wish he was here, I wish if even in spirit I could feel him here, with me now. I hope that he knows how much I love him and miss him, but those are words that I wish I could say to his face and then wrap my arms around him. They long for him.
I think about when we will be ready to move forward, and try for another one. Wherever Thatcher is, will he feel replaced? Is he up there right now with his other sibling(s) telling them all about us? Will I be able to carry again? If I get pregnant again, will I be a basket case throughout the pregnancy? What effect would that have on the pregnancy? It feels as though a zillion things run though my mind at any given time. Sometimes it can be hard to make sense of. I wish, like a bike tire, I could push a stick though the spokes and make the wheels stop turning, if only for an instance. It is not a bad turning, not the last few days, but it is constant. I feel like I am in limbo. I feel as though I am stuck somewhere between here and there and that I do not know where either is.
I think about the what-if’s and could haves. I cry about the whys. I dream about the future.
Each day is different from the last and each moment is like never before. People ask how I am doing. They ask how we are doing and it is always changing, much like the ebb and flow of the ocean. It is getting easier to talk about what happened. I do not feel as though my throat starts to close off every time I talk about him. I feel as though I am not panicking as much or as often although it still occurs.
In the store tonight I was behind a lady in the checkout line. I guess I was not paying a lot of attention, because had I been I would have never picked this line. She moved ever so slightly and I could see a little baby boy in a car seat looking right at me. I felt panicked for a moment, I could only think to myself, PLEASE DO NOT CRY (to the little one) I was no sure what to do. He could not have been more than five or six months if that. The oddest thing happened though, he looked right at me and I felt as though he was looking into my soul. I had this strong, overwhelming feeling that he could see something in me. I cannot explain the feeling, but it was there nonetheless. I still cannot shake it, because I do not know what it was.
I’ve always loved this poem. I found it the first time while I was in High School. There was a car accident that killed several girls I had grown up playing ball with and injured several others. It rocked our town. I searched for it again tonight. Here it is.
Should You Go First
Should you go first and I remain
to walk the road alone,
I’ll live in memories garden dear,
with happy days we’ve known.
In spring I’ll wait for roses red,
when faded, the lilacs blue.
In early fall when brown leaves fall,
I’ll catch a glimpse of you.
Should you go first and I remain,
for battle to be fought.
Each thing you’ve touched along the way
will be a hallowed spot.
I’ll hear your voice, I’ll see your smile,
though blindly I may grope,
The memory of your helping hand
will buoy me on with hope.
Should you go first and I remain,
one thing I’ll have you do:
Walk slowly down that long long path,
for soon I’ll follow you.
I want to know each step you take,
so I may take the same.
For someday down that lonely road
you’ll hear me call your name.
~by Albert Kennedy “Rosey” Rowsell~
I’ll sign off for now. I’ll hope for a better tomorrow. I’ll hope for a brighter day. I’ll hope that it does not hurt and I’ll hope to have dreams of my son tonight.
Kerri