Where's the Resentment?

Several other parents, two with CDH survivors and one with a beautiful healthy baby girl 2 days older then Maddie, have asked me if I resent them. They've all asked it with varying degrees of sensitivity and concern and astonishment. And I get that. During my pregnancy with Dillan, two of my girlfriends lost their first babies. We were all due about the same time. I was heartbroken for them, completely without words and very aware that my son would be a reminder of what they didn't have. And i shamefully admit I distanced myself from them out of fear of my own inabilities.

But I find I don't feel that way, at least not in the way people expect. Yes, I do see little girls and little babies and pregnant women and think, what if? Yes, little things set me off when I mourn something else that we didn't get to share with Maddie. And yes, most definitely, there are times when I actively avoid being around small babies because it just feels like too much.

But I have not once resented any baby. Side note - Parents are another matter, but that has more to do with dumb things said and done. Back to not resenting your kids. I think the biggest reason I still am so in love with every baby i get to meet and make faces at them in the grocery store is because i've always been a mom at heart. My sister was my real life doll until she got loud enough to tell me how much she hated it. I started babysitting - practically full time - before high school. I've always been more comfortable in social situations hanging out at the kid's table. I've loved my kids long before I found my amazing husband and love my kids even more now that I've gotten to share them with him. Children represent everything right in this world for me.

Another reason I'm not resentful is because I do not feel like God had a quota. It isn't a one for one kind of thing - if Maddie had lived I don't think another baby would have had to die in her place. So while I am reminded through your joy of some of our losses, I don't feel like our losses are your gains.

Finally, I also feel like I have a realistic idea of what it is to have a newborn, a toddler, a child, to raise. And while I miss Madelyn so much, I am not missing a perfect baby. I am missing a baby who would have pooped on me. Vomited. Spit. Yelled. Fought. Had tons of doctors appointments. Missing the entire baby, not just the parts I would've have taken pictures of, keeps me grounded. Helps me remember that sharing in your child's life is not all joy all of the time. But it is what I want.

Last night I had a dream in which I was holding a newborn. My newborn. A son. We had named him Nathaniel James. My friend was with me in the dream and based on the age of her kids (1 year old Belle was 3 or 4 years old), it was several years from now. The dream felt so real. So peaceful. So complete. As much as Maddie will always be a part of me, of us, and can never be replaced, I really long for the day when I get to try again. When Maddie becomes a big sister. When Dillan gets to fully embrace being a big brother. When Luke holds another of our children from the first time and I watch the tears well in his eyes and my heart breaks with joy. it will come, but not tomorrow (or even next year realistically).

I have a pile of books to read - all previously read by loved ones and sworn to help me glean something as I walk through this darkness. But I tend to prioritize reading books suggested by other bereaved parents. I also tend to prioritize books I can read on the kindle (man, I love that little thing!). today i started reading Tracks of a Fellow Struggler by John Claypool. I'm only about 20 pages into it, but already want to recommend it to everyone I know (lets face it, you'll eventually deal with some kind of grief even if your babies are all happy and healthy). Its a collection of sermons written by Claypool in the days, months and years following his daughter's diagnosis of Leukemia. She passed away at 10 years old. Claypool is/was a Baptist minister and starts his first sermon by asking a lot of the same really big questions i've been asking. Again, I'm at the beginning, but have been tempted to post more then one of his insights into grief.

i think often of the feel of Maddie's skin. The few cute little noises we heard her make. Her lips. The feel of her hair. The pads on the bottom of her toes. I miss it all. She was real. She is loved. I still struggle daily to accept that she is gone. Physically, I have two little blood stains and a small lock of her hair. That's it. Can you imagine? Please imagine - seriously. Look at your child and try to imagine which 34 days out of their entire lives would be enough. Which lock of hair off of the beautiful head would be enough? Try to count how many times you would need to kiss them, squeeze them, touch them in order to say goodbye? which moment of their life would you lock away in your minds eye - your "go-to" memory of them? God, I pray you never have to. if you already have, I'm so sorry.

so many of you have already done so much for us, i don't know how my family would have functioned without you. no show of support or love has gone unnoticed or unappreciated (despite the lack of thank you cards that I really hope to one day write and mail out).

I'm rambling. and i ate 3/4 of a pints of ben and jerry's while writing this - good for the soul, lousy on the saddle bags. thank you for continuing to support us.