10 minutes after he died the delivery room was still full of activity. The nurses took him back from me to dress him, take his foot prints, take pictures, and clean him up. The doctor was helping to deliver the placenta. It was pure chaos...and the only thing in the room that mattered to me was that sweet boy that just died.
10 days after he died I was laying in bed with a pinched nerve from labor. My mom was in town to help take care of me. I had so much milk my chest ached. I was in so much physical pain at some moments I forgot how much my heart hurt. I couldn't walk, talk, eat, sit, sleep, anything without crying. I couldn't imagine living. I didn't want to. I didn't understand why God chose to keep me here and take my precious son.
10 weeks after he died I was back to work. I was trying to be "normal." But, the grief was so powerful I felt like I couldn't breath most days. My chest was heavy. My heart had been shattered and my body could barely hold it in. I cried all the time. I tried to hide it. I tried to be strong. I failed. I was deep in guilt for failing him. I was beyond broken spirited. I had nightmares of those days in the hospital. I had dreams of the son I was supposed to be raising. I had a husband that didn't recognize his wife anymore. I had a life that didn't feel worth living.
And, tomorrow it is 10 months since he died. If you just glanced at my life you wouldn't know the pain I have seen. If you were a stranger you would just see a pregnant woman...and it must be my first since I have no other kids in tow. If you were on the outside looking in you would see a woman how laughs, jokes, loves, and lives. You would see a woman who took the grief and decided to change herself...lose 90 lbs, delete all negative people from her life, care more deeply, love more genuinely, listen fully, and more than anything give her sons life meaning. But, in these 10 months I have fallen apart more times than I have had it together. I have cried more tears than I have in the whole rest of my life put together. I have questioned God more times than I wish to remember. I have given up hope. I have wanted to end it. I have yelled, screamed, cussed at God for taking him. I have hated the people around me who get to have a child with "ease." I have felt jealousy for those who don't know this pain. I have hidden from social events that I knew would hurt too much; birthday parties, baby showers, wedding showers. I have offended people by mentioning my sons name. I have ran people off because they can't deal with the "new" me. I have learned a new reality.
But, more than anything else...I have missed him.
I have missed his first bowl of oatmeal.
I have missed his first bath.
I have missed his first time peeing on daddy.
I have missed kissing his face.
I have missed hearing him cry.
I have missed every second of every day that he should have been here.
I miss him.
What about 10 years from now?
I believe I will still miss him. I know that I will never be the same person I was before he came into my life. I will have other children (hopefully living ones) But, he will always be missing.
And, the only real comfort in any of it is to think that in 100 years I will be there with him.
And, then I will never have to say good bye again.