Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Kids First Day of School

It's so refreshing to feel happiness.
It's the best feeling to hold a tiny baby to my chest that stays warm, who's little heart flutters rapidly, consistently.
It's like a dream to go to sleep and wake up, and a tiny baby is still there, still alive.
I love taking care of Trey. I feel confident with it, and fully at peace while doing it, because there is nothing else I would rather be doing.
But I realized today that my joy is reserved because I don't feel like he's MINE. I know God intervened to save him, that he was days away from being another cord accident. That scares me deeply for some reason.

I also have been so emotionally tired for so long, pushing through such losses, that I can't take happiness for granted anymore. I love it today, but there's no guarantee it will last. I fear losing this precious babe. I'm so aware now of all these wonderful parents who's hearts have been ripped out as they bury their young children. You'd think I would get used to it, but each new story shocks me, imagining their pain overwhelms me, and I wonder how they make it through.
I hold my baby and pray that he's meant to live a long hearty life, because I don't want to live without him.
Today I saw two cute kiddos that were born very close to Jackson's birth. They are so big now, toddling around. I let myself imagine life with a little one that tall toddling around my house, and my heart has been aching ever since. Ironically, I also saw my niece who's the same age Claire would be. I was fine with it until I felt her weight and told myself, little Claire would be this big now. Imagine carrying her, this big, everywhere now...imagine seeing your little girl grow. Then a quiet mournful feeling swept over me, and it's been there ever since. Why do I do that to myself?
It's less painful and safer to live in the moment.
Nevertheless, today when I took and  picked up my kids from school, I found myself chatting with parents, something I haven't done since Jackson died. I  used to be so outgoing. Though I doubt I ever will be that way again, today was different for me. So, Trey must be sneaking in and healing up some part of me, even as I worry too much that I may not get to keep him long enough.


Bri said...

This makes me so sad, but I know that it's so normal. How could you not feel this way? It's interesting, isn't it, how those feelings of deep loss linger and linger, no matter what joyous things happen. The truth is that Jackson died not long ago, and Claire even more recently. Most parents, like me, sail along without thinking too hard about how vulnerable our lives really are to devestation should one of our children leave us. Your initimate knowledge and wisdom make you a better parent, but a burdened one, too. I am so grateful that we are friends, and that I get to watch as time and Trey work on healing those wounds of the deepest kind.

Eldredge Family said...

Reading your thoughts and feelings are healing for me. I hide from people because I really do not know what to say or how to act most of the time. At family gatherings I find that I just sorta sit and watch like a spectator sport. It is strange for me.

I am so glad Trey is bringing you joy and happiness. I have been terrified to get excited over this baby...because of the what ifs?? Easier to not get to attached. I am 3 weeks away from holding our baby and I am so nervous because I know how fast they can go home. Faith is a hard thing sometimes! I look forward to watching Trey grow up. I have a hard time seeing little boys running around that are Sages would be just hurts so bad.

Kathleen said...

It must have been a good but strange feeling to talk to those other parents the way that you were able to. I respect, admire, and love you and your family so much. I still tear up every time I think of everything (of which I'm even slightly aware) that you have had to endure in the past five or six years. It just isn't fair, and I hate hearing all the trite explanations people have to give for these losses, as if we could really explain away earthly tragedies to make everything understandable and place it perfectly in a framework of, "Oh, this is how it is and this is why." Yes, we all need faith. Yes, we all have to trust in the "Grand Plan". But that doesn't make the day-to-day grind any easier or any less painful. That's my take on it.

We recently attended a church picnic, and I was thoroughly enjoying watching our little girl run as fast as she could through the grass, giggling, smiling, the sun gleaming on her blond hair and her little legs carrying her tiny body as fast as they could possibly go. But that enjoyment turned to pain and utter sadness in a flash. I imagined seeing our twins doing the same thing in two-and-a-half or three years when they would have been at the same stage in life. I cried that I can't hear their giggles now. I cried that I have to wait what seems to be eons to see the sun smile down on their faces. Why can't I see them now?! Why can't I hear their laughter now?! Do I really have to wait and wait--and wait some more--to see them, to hold them, to tell them face to face how badly I wanted to raise them alongside their older sister? If I'm waxing too sentimental to anyone reading this, all I have to say is you must not have anything in your life that compares and you'll never know the abyss of loss that you fall into almost inevitably until something like this personally strikes you--not an acquaintance, not a friend, not even a family member, but you. I don't wish that upon anyone, but I cannot reiterate enough how important it is to sympathize, really sympathize, and never claim or pretend to empathize if you cannot. None of us really knows what anyone else feels until we live through it.

Kelly, I wish you many future days of chatting away with other parents. I wish I could remove the pain of seeing toddlers and babies Jackson's and Claire's ages. I wish you could keep loving your beautiful guardian angel children and keep thinking of them without aching for them. I think this is exactly why it hurts so much: the love you have for them is just as great as the love you have for your three beautiful living children.

Question: do you have any advice on letting your living children feel the depth of your love for them, that you are grateful to have them in the here-and-now? Every time I cry, our daughter comes up to me and says in her sweet two-year-old voice, "Babies! Babies!" I don't think she'll ever forget witnessing the devastation on her mommy's face. And I don't know how to let her know that just because I miss the babies doesn't mean I love her any less. And, along with your friend who commented just above, I'm scared to ever be pregnant again, to have another baby, and to lose another baby. It seems unreasonable to expect that fear to ever dissipate. Am I a basket case or what?!

Naomi said...

Since I haven't been blessed with being able to bare a child, I know I don't even come close to understand your heartaches, but I still want to stand by you, my dear friend Kelly, even though most often I do not really know what to say or to do to ease your pain. Please know that when you are sad, I am sad for you, and when you are happy I am that much happier because of you.

I'm not a person with great words, and all I can do is pray for you and your family, so that you have peace and comfort in your hearts.

I am grateful for your strength and faith, and for your great friends that I meet on your blogs. They are troopers and I can tell they are inspirations to many people. I pray for all the mothers with aching hearts to be blessed with comfort.

Kelly said...

you're right, Bri; my kids deaths weren't very long ago. I tend to forget that...weird!
Everyone who posted are such good writers. Such a way with words. You all need to get together and write a book!

The Scotts said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Los Torrientes said...

It was so great to meet Trey and see how big and wonderful Caidgen and Ami are now. When I look at Merrick, I think of Jackson a lot, and my heart aches for you. I am glad your kids kept him such great company while we had the chance to visit. I was drawing the same comparison while I was at your house and it just hurts and I even feel guilty. It's not fair, and it's not a forgotten point in my mind. I am grateful that you let him come and play, though. It is a testimony of your strength that you are able to do all that your family is doing. Thank you for being willing to share your life and remind all of us how blessed we are and how fragile it is. Living in the moment is the essence, but it's easier said than done. Love you guys.

Jen West said...

I have never experienced your loss, but with each consecutive baby, I understood more and more the miracle. With #6, I never even let myself be in love or hopeful until I held her in my arm. Crazy, I know. Reading your blog, and learning from others has taught me that yes, even now, while they are from college on down to my 1 yr old, every moment with them is a gift. Life IS fragile. A benefit of feeling the deepest sorrow, is now having the potential to feel that equal amount of joy. There IS opposition in all things. You'll see :)

The Scotts said...

Okay so now I feel really stupid that I wrote that quote. I wasn't trying to say move on or forget!!!! Obviously that will never happen. I hope I didn't offend you!!!!! Great quote for a different situation! I'm sorry!!