I usually have a pretty clear idea of what I’d like to say in a blog post when I begin to write. I really don’t have anything to say right now. I haven’t a clear idea of what I’d like to tell you. So it’s weird that I’m writing. But I feel like I might explode if I don’t write something.
I think I just want to be here, in this space, for a moment. If Sam’s grave were nearby, I think I would plan to go and visit him tomorrow afternoon. I think I need to make a plan to fly to see his grave very soon. Usually on days like this, I wear my resurrection necklace. His birthday is on the back. Samuel Evan. February 18, 2010.
These tears are so welcome. I feel like I’ve been trying to have a good cry for a week, and haven’t had the time.
Maybe it’s just that there are lots of changes happening and ahead. Maybe it’s just that life feels really full, and sometimes just plain busy, and I just want to make space to breathe for a minute, to realign and make peace with waiting to see my baby again. I’ve been having these flashbacks, thinking of people who were involved in Sam’s life, seeing their faces clearly for the first time in a couple of years, remembering little things. The other day, I opened my wallet, and out fell a movie ticket. Why did I save this? I had to think for a minute. Avatar… December 25, 2009… it was the movie we went to when we discovered that Samuel could hear. He would kick and startle during the loud parts. Steven sat with popcorn in one hand and his other hand on my belly, holding Sam with me.
I think I’m so worried about overshadowing Ezra that I have overshadowed Sam in my heart lately. I know that others have moved on, and that is natural, but it isn’t natural for me to ever really move on. Move forward, yes. Move on, no. Did you know that a mother carries bits of every one of her children’s DNA in her bloodstream till the day she dies? Through my veins courses blood with bits of triploid Sammy DNA. I literally carry him with me every where I go. Literally.
My story was so public, and, as a result, there were people who spoke into my life who, in an effort to help me “heal,” made me feel like I should not make space for Sam. It wasn’t any one person, and it wasn’t anything really intentional or evil that I feel like any of those people need to even know what it’s done. They didn’t know what they were doing. They’ve never walked in my shoes. How could they know what to say and what not to say? Really it’s little lies that I took in and allowed to fester. I own my grief. This is my song to sing. I need to slough off that deadness.
It was such a healing balm to read comments from other grieving parents on my last post. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath lately, and those comments gave me permission to breathe. I’ll get back to my busy life. And I’ll get back to my beautiful family, with me here on earth. I’ll get back to work and play and life. But for now..
This is me tending this plot, this memory of my firstborn. This is me laying an autumn wreath and watering his memory with my tears, in this moment I have by myself. This is me making room to breathe.