It's not even noon yet... And I want to fall apart.
Thank you, period, for deciding that today was the day you needed to start. After Grace's miscarriage, this cycle was 38 days, about a week longer than usual. But, it means that there was no January cycle. I kind of hoped I'd have one so that I wouldnt have the added reminder of bleeding through his birthday, but, deep down, I anticipated a February 1st start date. Because, really, why not! Why not add insult to injury!
We went to Mass this morning and it was all I could do not to break down into loud, snotty sobs when Fr. B. announced that the Mass was being said for Nicholas. I had it together, but my heart... Not so much. I dont want a yearly Mass to be said for his soul's repose. I want to be throwing a birthday party. I dont want to wake up to an alarm so that we can get everyone ready for church. I want a little one waking me up to squeals of "It's my birthday!!!" I dont want to have breakfast after Mass. I want to eat birthday cake surrounded by his friends.
This year, there is more anger than in years passed. More asking WTF. (Forgive the language and the blasphemy this post may contain. But it's my space and it's my feelings and God forgives.) The Gospel for today was the story of the raising of the daughter from the dead. Here is an abridged version, but you can click here for the full readings of the day.
Then the president of the synagogue came up, named Jairus,
and seeing him, fell at his feet and begged him earnestly, saying,
'My little daughter is desperately sick. Do come and lay your
hands on her that she may be saved and may live.'...While he
was still speaking some people arrived from the house of the
president of the synagogue to say, 'Your daughter is dead; why
put the Master to any further trouble?' But Jesus overheard what
they said and he said to the president of the synagogue, 'Do not
be afraid; only have faith.'...So they came to the house of the
president of the synagogue, and Jesus noticed all the commotion,
with people weeping and wailing unrestrainedly. He went in
and said to them, 'Why all this commotion and crying? The child
is not dead, but asleep.' But they ridiculed him. So he turned
them all out and, taking with him the child's father and mother
and his own companions, he went into the place where the child
lay. And taking the child by the hand he said to her, 'Talitha kum!'
which means, 'Little girl, I tell you to get up.' The little girl got up
at once and began to walk about, for she was twelve years old.
At once they were overcome with astonishment, and he gave
them strict orders not to let anyone know about it, and told them
to give her something to eat.
I knew, when the priest began reading, what lay ahead. And I tried, so desperately, not to have the feelings that I knew were going to cloud my head. But they came anyway.
Why that child?
What made her so special?
What made her father's faith so much greater than mine?
Why her and not my children? Weren't they special? Wouldn't they have served as proof of the Great Spirit's awesomeness?
WTF Jesus??? And yes, I asked the question, in my mind of course. But I asked it. And it wasn't an acronym either. I figure He gets me and wants my honesty, so there he had it (hey, I told you you may find my post blasphemous).
I had faith. I believed that there was hope that my son could somehow be saved. I believed that Sophia could stay in my womb for the months needed to save her life. I believed that my cervix could stay closed long enough to get Alexander into this world safely. I believed. I had faith.
I believed in each of my pregnancies. I believed that I would one day hold my babies in my arms, living and breathing. I believed that Peter and Dimitri and Zoe and Grace would all one day be running around and laughing and playing. I believed. I had faith.
I have 7 dead children. No amount of belief or faith at this point can make that untrue. Even Job's children weren't returned to him after they died (although he did go on to have other children afterwards). And, today of all days, the Gospel brought me anger instead of peace. Hurt instead of hope. A slap in the face instead of a hug. His child was given a second chance. WHY WEREN'T MINE? WHAT THE HELL?
I know there are no answers. I dont want to hear that my children are in heaven or any of the things that people say, true though they may be, to comfort the living. You cant comfort me. My children are dead. My son turns three today and, instead of throwing a birthday party, I'm remembering that this is three years ago since my sweet little Nicholas was born and died. Three years since he left my body. Since he struggled for air which his poor little lungs couldnt breathe and process. Three years since he struggled and God forbid it suffocated to death. Three years. No little boy running around with curls for me to tousle. No laugh when I tickle his ribs. No picking out a special birthday outfit or helping make his dinner or blowing out his candles.
WHY? Why do parents kill their children, abort them, abuse them- why do these children suffer at the hands of the people who should love them most and do everything in their power to help them and mine died? Why are some children saved and some- mine- arent?
There isn't an answer. Men and women will kill their babies and mine will still be gone. Some babies will be saved and mine will still be dead. And it will still suck and still be unfair. And my heart will still hurt. I'll still go on breathing while they wont. And some of the worse guilt is the knowing that I wouldnt have it any other way... I wouldnt give back the past if it meant not having my present... All my babies and, especially on days like today, my sweet Bobby and sweet Maya.
I needed to let this out today. I'm a believer that if we handle our grief as it comes then it cant consume us. Today's grief happened to be twinged with anger and questions. It's good that the Divine is merciful because I need it today. Mercy and a big hug.
Keeping the name of Brighid on my lips today and reminding her to give a special squeeze to my oldest boy who was born on her special day... Hug him, Holy One, until I can do so myself...
And so, this day, continues...