How could I not when I look at their faces?
And when Colby's talking up a storm
Or the girls are rolling around on the floor
Or smiling up at me
I often think I'm the luckiest person in the world.
When I have these thoughts, I often feel guilty. How can I feel like I'm the happiest or the luckiest when I can only parent and hug 3/4 of my children?
So, I might be happy. Colby, Sydney, and Zoe are amazing and cute and funny. They make the world go round.
But the happiest person? I'm not sure it's possible.
Or I might be lucky. Colby is defying all the odds of a 27 week old baby who spent 2 weeks on a ventilator.
I often forget that the girls were even premature, or that their lives were in the balance at 27 weeks.
But the luckiest person? Obviously we'd be luckier if we had brought two babies home from the NICU 2 years ago.
Luckier still if they had been born full term, or it bedrest had never happened, or... well, the list goes on and on.
It seems it's all a matter of perspective I guess.
I'm not saying that I can't be happy or feel lucky, because life is pretty amazing most of the time, but I constantly have a nagging thought in the back of my head:
Life can never be perfect.
And yes, I know, life isn't perfect for anyone. But I have already experienced the best of life. It was back when I was finally pregnant with the boys.
Thinking I would be one of the few to make it to 40 weeks with twins. Because I never considered anything else.
Never did I dream I'd be having two of the less-than-1% of babies born before 28 weeks. Never did I dream I'd be saying goodbye to my first son at only 2 days old. Never did I think I would be here.
Happy. Naive.
Thinking I would be one of the few to make it to 40 weeks with twins. Because I never considered anything else.
Never did I dream I'd be having two of the less-than-1% of babies born before 28 weeks. Never did I dream I'd be saying goodbye to my first son at only 2 days old. Never did I think I would be here.
That's when life was best. When I didn't know- and I really thought that perfection was possible. Now it's not bad by any stretch of the imagination. We find joy in the big and the little. Giggles light up the mornings and cuddles settle us in for the night. We laugh and love and enjoy the amazing little beings we have.
But now we know. We're stronger for it. We're more cautious.
But we're changed and a bit broken.
But we're changed and a bit broken.
And happiness continues to be possible. But I'm afraid that I'll only forever be struggling to be as happy as I once was.
But it won't happen, because part of my heart is missing and broken.
Gone when those monitors stopped beeping.
3 comments:
This is so profound to me. There is so much truth to it. I think we all have an experience in life that leaves us broken, and searching for happiness we once knews. But losing a child. . . it has got to be hands down the worst experience. I've heard other parents describe this as saying that they've learned to live with their new reality, but they will never be the same. And that must be so true. Thinking of you and all the other parents out their who will never get to experience that naivete again.
I find that I often feel guilty about not missing Nora 'enough'. But something that my minister said when we were fresh in our grief that that we must remember that Nora would want us to be happy. To have fun and enjoy life with her brother and sister. That she was much loved when she was here with us, and still much loved. I find myself in a funk every now and then - but I remember that and hold onto it.
I won't forget Nora - it's just not possible - but I do remember that I've got my two wonderful guys right here, right now, to love and hug and have fun with.
Do deny yourself the sadness that comes with loss - but don't deny yourself the joy that your life has in it too!
hugs
Remembering your beloved Connor, such a gorgeous little baby.
It's so hard not to feel guilty, I know I feel guilty when I'm happy with my two beautiful children I have here and guilty when I'm sad, as how could I be completely happy when my eldest daughter is missing.
Sadder than I was before, less naive certainly, but also happier than I was before because I think I can appreciate what I have in a way that others can't.
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