When I say it like that, I feel guilty. It's like I'm being selfish or ungrateful for the amazing little miracle who came into our lives so quickly after his big brother was lost. I feel so blessed to have my rainbow for a son. I am so lucky, and I know it.
I have a handsome, sweet, smart little boy who I adore and love unconditionally. I can't imagine my life without him. I can't remember my life before him. He has healed my broken heart in so many ways. He makes me smile and laugh when I thought I could never be happy again.
BUT.
And that BUT makes me feel so guilty. That BUT is constantly hanging over my head.
BUT he's not the son who died.
BUT regardless of how healing he's been, he can never fill the baby-sized hole in my heart that is still raw.
BUT I just want all of my babies.
BUT the math would never allow it.
And right behind the BUTs are the WHAT IFs.
WHAT IF my baby had not died?
WHAT IF my third pregnancy hadn't ended in miscarriage?
WHAT IF Baby Number Three had been born?
WHAT IF I had a one year old today?
Would he be healthy? Or would I be sitting in a hospital room while he struggled to live... hooked up to machines or recovering from endless surgeries due to a congenital defect or chromosomal abnormality?
And those WHAT IFs lead me to think the scariest WHAT IF of all. One so awful, that it makes me feel physically ill just to think it, let alone write it here where others can see my dark thoughts.
Here goes....please be gentle with your judgment.
WHAT IF other people were right? You know the ones. The well-meaning people who uttered those awful trite phrases that were meant to bring me comfort when my baby died. Those phrases that just added to my pain.
WHAT IF "it's for the best"?
WHAT IF "everything happens for a reason"?
WHAT IF they were right?
Because if that baby had lived, I would not have my precious rainbow, my Optimus. That thought terrifies me. I can't imagine my life without him. He brings us so much joy.
Does that mean that one baby was lost so that another could exist? That my miscarriage really was "a blessing in disguise" as others told me? Did my body choose one baby over another?
As soon as these morbid thoughts enter my head, I feel so sick and so guilty. My head and my heart start to pound.
I just want all my babies.
Living with the "buts" and the "what ifs" is hard.
BUT.
I can't change what happened. None of us can. All I can do is move forward. Love. Live. Remember. Grieve.
The pain will always be there for the baby who died. I'll always wonder what life could have been if the Storm had never stolen him from us.
BUT like the Ying and the Yang, I know that with the pain, there is happiness too. There is happiness for the Sunshines in my life and happiness for the Rainbow that followed my Storm. There is happiness for the life I have with my beautiful family.
My pain and happiness will always coexist. Maybe one day I'll get used to it.
Today I'm going to light a candle for my baby and wish him a happy first birthday. I'm going to read him "I'll Love You Forever," the very same copy I have read with all his siblings.
I'm going to wish that he was here with us. I'm going to remember him and wish that things were different.
I'm going to hope that somewhere out there, a reality exists where all of my children are with me. I'm going to hope that in this alternate reality, it's possible for me to have a one year old and a ten month old.
I'm going to hope that instead of lighting a candle in memory of my baby, we are lighting one on his birthday cake and watching him smash cake all over his high chair and face, his hair sticky with icing. He'll squeal out in happiness when his older siblings sing happy birthday, and he'll try to grab the noise makers they blow at him, giggling at the sounds they make. And he and his baby brother (by only two months) will happily play with the gift boxes and try to eat the wrapping paper, completely oblivious to the gifts.
Today, I should have a one year old, but instead I have a ten month old...and I desperately wish I had them both to hold.
Happy birthday, Little One. I love you. Always.
