Missing our baby boy

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Friday, December 17, 2010

Rainbows and Grief

Isn’t it strange that with the right situation, clarity comes so swiftly it’s a wonder you never saw things for how they are to begin with?

I’m talking about sleep depravation. Either from child loss or arrival of a rainbow baby (I have both now), we are affected by serious amounts of lack of sleep. Combine this with an overload of hormones, stress, grief and worry and it becomes quite the combination. With this lack of sleep comes lots of time to work through things – by either deep thinking or flat crying them out, we struggle to find answers even when sometimes we know there are none.

So goes the life of a baby loss mother.

Along with this life of ours of grief, sadness, anger and everything else, we deal with coming to terms with things only to fall off the horse again later down the road. That’s where I find myself today. Sitting on my ass in the middle of the road, watching the horse I learned to ride so carefully galloping away from me at top speed. And we had just learned to canter, too. Damn.

With the arrival of our rainbow baby came a whole new host of emotions to the grieving world I thought I was leaving behind – or leaving, at least, the worst of it behind.

Our new son looks so much like the one we lost that it hurts. I have to keep a constant light on in the nursery because with just the right amount of dim, it’s like I’m looking at Brayden. The lips look blue, the eyes closed and face so still…it haunts me. I reach out and touch his little face and find relief that his cheek is warm. I lean down and gently push his back until he grunts and moves, quietly grateful that he responds. Then I realize once again that I never held Brayden, never kissed his cheek and told him how much I dearly loved him. And something inside begins to hurt.

Regret. It sucks.

I would give just about anything to be able to go back and just do that much. My heart would feel so much better, and that memory would be such a comfort. To have been that much of a mother to him, to have been brave and given him what I could have when I had the chance. I’ll never forgive myself for that.

Regret. It really, really sucks.

It’s like I’m reliving what I lost all over again. Before, it was what I almost had. Now, I am seeing (and living) what I really missed.

I don’t like this part. In fact, I hate it. I don’t expect everything to be peachy perfect, but damn…where’s my balance? What happened to the plateau I was on? That wonderful happy place I briefly had that allowed me to think about our loss without dwelling, to remember Brayden without sharp pains or losing my breath.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the reality of the situation. Maybe this is my forever, the way my life is from now on - one big up and down moment. Maybe it’s everything.