I remember writing this 7 months after my son died, I was at a place where I was starting to feel at peace about his death, even if it hurt me so much losing him…
In a few days my son will be 7 months old and I will be sitting in the office at the doctors waiting to hear his post mortem results. It has been a long time coming to get this far. On that dark September day when my world turned from glorious bliss to a world filled with complete darkness when all went still within my womb. 7 months of soul searching, 207 days of figuring out: ‘what went wrong’? 29 weeks of grieving, 207 days of moving forward in a slow painful manner; learning to live again; learning to hope again.
207 days of waiting for my son’s post mortem results. It was supposed to be 30 days less than 207 days but the doctor lost my son’s paperwork and then suddenly out of the blue found it again. 167 days since we celebrated my son’s little life. 7 months of heartbreak. 29 weeks of looking at the moon and saying goodnight my son, I love you my son. I miss you Sebastian.
6 months of working. 4 months of living alone. 3 months of seeing a counselor. Can you define your time in numbers? Can we live by numbers? It feels like a lifetime ago since I lost my little Sebastian, but then it also feels like yesterday. Our worlds divided by the heavens. Our worlds diverted on the 29th of September 2014 when I gave birth to death, gave birth to angel wings. He progressed on into the heavenly realms. I onto earthly realms trying to navigate my broken heart back onto a path of hope.
I sit and I learn to breathe. I start appreciating the little things of life. How fragile life is. I no longer take things for granted. Now I am weary. I have become weary. I am not naïve. After losing 3 babies I am not what I once was. A youth full of spirit. I am weary but I am hopeful. I am more quite, but I have noticed I have become more sarcastic. I can say funny jokes and make people laugh. I talk about my children as if they are still here. But I can also talk about other things. I can cry like yesterday. I can cry oceans full. But still at the end of the day, I am a mom of 3 angel children, living in heaven.
The Lord only knows what goes through my mind as I question the whys and what ifs. I have come to terms with my losses. I have recently come to terms with the loss of my little Sebastian, my beautiful little boy. I have come to accept that our lives diverted and he will live within me forevermore, the son whom I had so many dreams and hopes for. The life that I envisioned once is no more. On my bad day I see myself as an empty shell with nothing left to live for. On a good day, I am brimming with hope for a future that may bring me a few rainbows. For every rainbow I see in the sky I count that as a blessing. I count it as a sign, a sign towards the path of happiness.
I still struggle with newborn babies, talks about babies, being crushed by pregnant ladies when they want to give you a hug. I wonder if it will ever get easier. I doubt it; I know the risks of pregnancy. It is not a given. I don’t think I could enjoy the blissful news of pregnancy like I once could. On days when people announce their pregnancies to me, I feel a jealousy roar within me, a jealousy that tears through my body like wildfire across the fields, and I have to slowly accept that this is how life will be. I am a changed person; sometimes for the good; sometimes for the worst. I have good qualities in me. My son still comes and gives me signs. He still reminds me of his presence. He still reminds me, that I need to keep on having faith, to keep on living, that one day I will be able to have a living child in my arms.
But I am afraid. Afraid of what the future may hold. I am afraid of taking risks. I am afraid of going through this terrible grief again, if I were to lose something dear to me again. I cannot face this. I cannot face the pain. I do not want to face this pain. I know if I had to, my body would break into two. And my soul would die like the plants that go unattended for weeks. I am but human, but I can feel my broken body, I can feel the pain of losing my son as if it were yesterday, the pain still fresh in my mind. My broken body as it rocks backwards and forwards I can still see myself in that hospital bed, completely lost and empty. Not knowing how to move forward, to move past that pain. For weeks after my son died I just stared into empty space, unable to move my bruised body to do anything. 207 days later, I am able to do things that I wasn’t able to do then.
I can smile and not feel guilty. I can even laugh a hearty laugh which occasionally sounds false to my ears. I can go from laughing to crying in minutes apart, all it has to be is a mention of my son, a baby being born, and my whole world collapses around me. My family and friends say I am more at peace. That I smile more, that I laugh more. They can see the sun peeking through the clouds. The long drawn clouds are slowly parting, as the sun will shine once more upon my life.
My life now is not the life I envisioned a year ago. May marks the month when I found out what my baby would have been. The name I had so carefully chosen for him. It fits him perfectly. It breaks my heart that I am not able to say his name out loud. I am almost afraid to whisper it in case I might hurt someone’s feelings. In case I might break like glass.
My heart but beats a song and whispers gently as I come to know that one day I will meet my sweet children again, my sweet son again, my sweet daughters again. My heart but beats a gentle song of hope as I look into the skies for another rainbow. I am a flower, that is slowly learning to open her heart again, slowly blooming, as butterflies fly around and drink the juice of the flower. I will blossom and I will open my heart once more for a few rainbows, perhaps. I will smile and I will sing for joy one day, taking a day at a time into the right direction. And with that comes an acceptance and a certain measure of peace and I move blindly for the door of hope once more!