Life has been so busy and full and good lately. Our old routine was put through a Bingo cage, and what has fallen into place, our new jobs, our new schedules, our new routine, is just what our weary hearts needed. This is why, for the last week or so, I would have moments of panic. “What is today’s date?” I would ask frantically. It’s only the 12th. It’s only the 15th. It’s the 16th. I was afraid I would forget somehow. So it is comforting to me that, without alarm clocks or calendar reminders, the tears came gently at around 9:00 tonight. Two years ago at that time, I began to go into labor with Samuel Evan, my first son.
I wonder if I had known, two years ago, that on February 18, 2012, I would be living here, would be doing what I’m doing, would be as much in love with Steven as I am, would be as happy raising Ezra, would be at this point in my grief… would I have been able to fathom it?
I think it is important to me to remember February 18 because it is the day to celebrate the little boy who made me a mama. If I forget him, I forget the good part of the loss, and all I’m left with is the trauma, anxiety, and grief that comes with this kind of loss. These thorns still surface two years later, but they so easily get lost in the comings and goings of life. Samuel… my sweet boy… his memory surfaces involuntarily and it refuses to be lost in the din, like a gift I didn’t earn. A gift that is not taken away. Like grace.
I have friends who have also lost children who do really creative things on their baby’s birthday. They release butterflies or balloons. They bake a cake. They sing happy birthday at the cemetery. So beautiful. These things are healing to their hearts. I thought about visiting the butterfly pavilion on his birthday, but decided against it and we went a few days ago, just to go. I realized I actually prefer celebrating him in the quiet, like I have a secret dream that is waiting to be fulfilled.
My secret dream is not Samuel, as much as I miss him. My dream is wholeness, and I love that Jesus makes it so, and that Sam will meet me there.
Tomorrow, I will go about my day, tending to Ezra, working on home projects, enjoying our Saturday. I will wear my memorial necklace, and I will take a moment to look through his photos and belongings and cry a little. Mostly, I will celebrate that Sam happened, that God picked me to be his mama, and that, though the sadness has changed from a gaping wound to a sore scar, Sam’s memory is still with me, even down to the very hour of the beginning of his birth. The blessing stays with me.