Some days I wake up so mad. Other days I wake up with tears in my eyes. There are even days where I just wake up, void of any emotion. Grief is such a complicated process with surprises around every corner and this is one ride I never wanted to take. Sometimes, I find myself okay with things I thought would trigger a response only to have something completely out of the blue knock me to my knees. The sight of a baby doesn’t upset me. I can even touch them without breaking down but when I hear their cry, the demand for a mother’s touch, my heart shatters knowing I never got to hear you cry. I imagine in my head what your cry would have sounded like. Some babies have quiet cries while others sound like a pterodactyl. Some have a cry that will melt your heart with its sweetness while some will make you cringe. I think you would have had a sweet cry, one that would have been accompanied by a pouty, quivering lip and an even sweeter personality. My heart aches knowing that all I have are the thoughts of who you would have been.
When I was pregnant with you, I was caring for a lovely lady who had started her journey to Heaven. She had the most loving family who stayed at her bedside continuously. One of the family members who stood vigil was her young grandson. He was about 11-13 years old and showed an immense love for his grandmother. He was shy, polite and always concerned about others’ well being. He was such a sweet boy who seemed to have so much love to give. I kept thinking to myself how blessed I would be to have a boy like him. He even collected heart shaped rocks that he found randomly and gave a rock to each person who cared for his grandmother. He was such a lovely soul and his name was Holden. The name Holden wasn’t just a bunch of letters to me anymore. It was a description of a gentle soul with a loving heart. It described a boy who never ran out of hugs and loved his Momma. It described a boy who would cry when others were hurt and always listened. I felt a connection to that name as it was demonstrated so beautifully by that young boy in the hospital room. I knew I met that sweet boy for a reason and, because of that, I named you Holden. Your middle name was already chosen. It would be James in honor of your Papa who I know you would have loved dearly as your brother and sisters do.
I know that my lap would never be empty with you around. I know you would have been a Momma’s boy and I would have loved it. Your brother is more of a Daddy’s boy and, sometimes, I find myself angry that I was robbed of that bond because you were taken from me. Although my arms are filled with love from your brother and sisters, they will never be full. This is a feeling that only other angel parents know, the feeling of loss amongst so many blessings. It is an ache that will never fade, only get easier to bear as life pushes us forward. Part of me is ready to move forward from this daily chore of trying to be strong while my heart feels weak but part of me wants to plant my roots directly into this hole and never let go. I fear that moving forward means leaving you behind. In a way, my sadness connects me to you as it is all I know right now. My obsession over your belongings, pictures and medical records brings me back to those days in the hospital where I had you in my arms. In those days, I was shut off from the world in my own dream land where I wasn’t sure what was real. I was able to trick my mind into thinking that it would all be okay. Stepping out of that hospital door, I was slapped with reality as I was wheeled to the car with empty arms. The drive home was quiet and I just stared out the window. It was as if I was seeing the world for the first time. It was so foreign, empty. It was a world without you, not the world I was looking forward to sharing with you.
One night this week, I sat with other angel parents and we talked about you and your friends. In our darkest moments, the strongest bonds are formed and in my friendship with these beautiful souls I have found a strength I never knew possible, a strength to carry on when it would just be easier to give up. A strength fueled by the intense need to honor our little ones who left us too soon. In a way, this new world is not as scary as it seemed seven weeks ago but it still makes me uneasy at times. I know it will take time but I will eventually become comfortable with my new surroundings. I will adapt and make it work, not moving on but moving forward with honoring you as my motivation. I know you want Momma to be strong and I promise you I will do my best to make you proud. Just like the hummingbird you sent me, you were here for only a moment but my heart smiles thinking of you giving me hope that everything will be okay.
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