Nothing to give… Blessed

I stroke his tiny knit hat between my fingers.

I stare at my belly, soft again… Empty. I can’t stand to see myself.

My breasts are swollen and painful to the touch. They leak streams of sweet-smelling milk down my side. Wasted.

My husband needs me. His heart is hurting and he longs to connect with me. My body feels broken right now. I have nothing to give him.

I am bleeding, still bleeding, and I hate it. Every clot is a reminder that I could not save him, that he is not a part of me anymore.

Cramping pains just as bad as Jackson’s unidentified labor now rack my body throughout the day or night in these days after his birth.

My baby is missing from me.

I think about today. What a beautiful day. We laid him to rest today. Father Jim said all the right things. Thank you, Holy Spirit.

Rex and I sang our lullaby to him at the cemetery before we said goodbye. My sisters and parents sang, too. “I Love You, Lord.” I’m so happy we sang to him.

I didn’t take any pictures of his tiny casket. It was so sweet.

We drove back to the cemetery, after everyone went home, and he was buried beneath the frozen ground already. You could hardly tell where we’d been standing just an hour earlier.

My baby. No longer warm and growing inside me… No longer my conversation keeper and the reason for my aching each day. Buried inside the cold, hard ground.

I can feel myself getting used to this grief. Part of me wants it never to subside… Always to be raw, excruciating, crippling. There I am broken and feel everything deeply. There I am most real, most aware, most vulnerable.

I don’t want to lose this feeling… This love in the form of pain. If pain is the only memory I can keep, I will choose it.

I want to start something. I want to go to the library and pick out a new book I would have read to him. Every week to go and read to him at his grave. I want to be a good momma still… I want to make sure he is not forgotten.

Oh, Mama Mary. Unite me to your heart. I feel strong in one moment and helpless in the next. I want to talk about Jackson to everyone. As soon as I do, I am met with a new wave of tears.

We were driving today and I reached into the back seat to get something for Rex. How I wished I was reaching into the backseat to check on my baby. How I wish our car was not so painfully empty.

So many momma’s have carried this with them. How do I do this?

A friend with many struggles, whom I have been reaching out to the last few months, has said some really awful things since Jackson was born. I am now ignoring her. How can someone be so awful? I never hold grudges. I try never to get offended. Am I being over sensitive? I refuse to talk to her right now. I can’t bring myself to have patience with her. I’m so sorry, Jackson.

It felt good to laugh today. We started out laughing in the shower making naked jokes. So mature. But it was laughter, just the same. We played Yahtzee tonight (of course I lost). I cried in the middle of the movie and I cried doing the dishes and I cried thinking of everything and then I laughed some more. I’m so happy to have a God who loves us when we laugh and weep just the same. And my husband. He told me he thinks I’m beautiful when I cry. I guess he doesn’t know about the phrase “ugly cry”.

I can drink my favorite tea now without feeling guilty. But I don’t want to. I’d rather not drink tea and have Jackson instead.

I keep running through scenarios. I want to know what happened… Was it because I drank chocolate milk? Maybe Jackson had a crazy allergy to the junk they put in chocolate milk and I had some last weekend for the first time during our pregnancy. Or was it because of running around busy all weekend? Was it because I am terrible at taking prenatals? Or because I was dehydrated and not drinking enough water?

This is the first night we go to sleep without our baby since he was born. The first night it was all we could do to hold him, all night and all day. When we left the hospital we put him to sleep inside his casket, and placed it on our bed when we came home. He slept between us every night… But even that small comfort is gone. I cannot keep him here. He is gone.

I must remain grateful. I must refuse to let my guard down against bitterness and pity. We are so blessed. Blessed. Thankful.