Eight

You're supposed to be 8 tomorrow. Eight...what should be a day filled with dirt and skinned knees and driving your siblings crazy will instead be yet another reminder of your absence. It will be a day spent, in part, in oblivion....because that's the only way I can make it through the day. It will be a day of close family and friends, holding me up and allowing me to just "be". It will be a day of gifts you'll never open and cake you'll never eat. It will scrape at my soul and open that wound yet again, so that I feel it in its entirety.

Sara and I bought your lanterns last Monday. It's become a tradition, and one that we both dread actually. It's hard. It never gets easier, and each year we add one more lantern. Eight of them will light up the sky this year. Eight. I can't seem to wrap my head around that.

I know you're aware of the changes in our lives lately. I have no doubt you orchestrated our path, and will be with us as we travel to meet your sisters next week. And still there is that part of me that screams out in pain, hoping that you know you can never be replaced. Your presence in my life will never take a back burner.  I cannot, WILL NOT exclude you when telling others that I have several children. I have 6 children. It sounds crazy to some, and for those who dig deeper and ask your ages, they'll hear that you are no long here with me. That fact is often met with an "I'm sorry" and an "oh, so you'll have 5 in your home then..." almost as if this is better, as if this lightens the load. What they don't know is that parenting you hasn't stopped for me. In fact, in some ways it has become more present in the past few years as the rawness of early grief shifts into moments of wondering "what if". I very much have 6 children. Three are in my home and three are currently outside my reach. Please know that the physical presence of your sisters, and the coming together of our family is only complete with you there.

I make no promises on your birthday.  I spend the day trying to remember how to breathe...in and out...in and out....and occasionally hoping I'll forget how. I love you with my whole being, sweet boy. I love all eight years of you....EIGHT.

Mother's Day

Oh this day...it's supposed to be a happy day of celebration. And I suppose it is, for daughters whose mothers are still here, and for mothers who can still hold all of their children. For those of us who don't fit into those categories, it's another reminder of that empty chair...those arms we can't feel.

And of course it's beautiful today. Of course the sun is shining. It's a mocking reminder of the way the world keeps turning despite the pain of those suffering loss. And it's a life sentence, one for which we didn't ask to experience. On the one hand, I don't know know that there is a group of people who can truly appreciate this day more. On the other...my own broken heart cries out for theirs in mutual pain over the existence of this day.

This year, Mother's Day has taken on a different meaning for me. Somewhere mixed in the pain of loss of my precious son, is a sense of deep gratitude for the birth mother of my daughters. So, today I will honor him and celebrate her.

Happy Mother's Day, M. I have never met you, and yet you have have proven to be one of the most important mothers in my life. Your body carried our daughters. Your arms held them first. Your lips kissed their heads. You bravely brought them into the world in your own home. I can't imagine the fear and pain you must have endured, experiencing the birth of twins in that way. I'm eternally grateful for your grit and courage. I know you never meant to leave them so soon. A piece of my heart lives in heaven too. If you'll hold him for me, I'll gladly love our girls as my own. I'll wrap them in the love of a mother's hug, until we all meet again one day. My boy likes ice cream and "moos". Please tell him that I miss him with every breath I take. Guide me as our girls become American citizens and enter a world completely foreign to them. Help me to know their pain and joy, as any mother does. I promise to speak of you often. I will say your name, and remind them that they were loved by two mothers in this lifetime.

Happy Mother's Day to all of the beautiful souls I've been fortunate enough to know. To those whose children are being loved by them on earth, I learn from each of you and I'm grateful. To those who had to give a child back, my soul burns for you as we navigate the pain and strength it takes to mother a child we can no longer see. To those whose mothers have been lost too soon, I promise to cherish every moment I get with mine, in order to honor the pain you experience. Love and peace on this day full of mixed emotion.