15 days until Nicholas's third birthday. 15 days... a little over 2 weeks... The period I stayed pregnant with Sophia after he was born. Yesterday marked a calendar month until her birthday.
Some days, I find myself at peace- a strange sense of peace, but peace nonetheless. A peace that this is the way my life was always supposed to be (even if I cannot fathom the why's or the couldnt-it-have-been-different's that I often ponder). I can't believe that any of us are meant to love these perfect little beings we have the honor to call "children" only to have them die. And yet... That is what has happened... I have loved baby after baby after baby... only to be robbed of them in this life. And still, there is a peace in knowing that they were there at all. Even for mere moments.
But, in that peace, that knowing, that belief, there is still pain; and sometimes, it rips apart the stillness and takes away my breath. Saturday night was one of those times.
The hurt was so raw and so real. The pain was so tangible that I could feel it in my fingers. The shards of my heart sharply ripped apart my insides until I thought I was vomit. It was visceral... cruel... real. And the tears came unabated. While Peter fed Bobby and Maya because I could barely stand, I curled into a ball and let the grief wash over me. It hurt so much. I thought my heart would break. I couldn't breathe; I couldnt even think. If you asked me to tell you what filled my head in that moment, I wouldnt know where to begin. I dont know what was there... Just hurt.
After their dinner, I tried to gain some sort of composure as the children came into the living room to play. Bobby walked next to me and put his hand on my arm, making sweet noises, resting his head against me. He'd run away to play but kept coming back, as though to tell me that he was there to comfort me... to mend my heart... to help ease my sorrow.
Fifteen days... Three years... How are we here? How have we gone on? How?