Bittersweet

Today we held a fund raiser, in Everett's memory, benefiting the NICU at our local hospital. It was a jewelry party, all proceeds being donated, and it was really successful.

We celebrated with cake.


And it was unexpectedly emotional.

As I stood there divvying up the cake, I felt my eyes readying for tears. I could feel them heat and water and my chin quivered just a bit. At first I didn't understand this tidal wave of emotion, but then it hit me. This is the very first cake I've served with Everett's name on it. He's never had a birthday cake.

He'll never have a birthday cake.

The need to cry stuck with me through the afternoon. And when no one was looking I stole away to the bathroom to cry for all the birthday cakes Everett will never have.

Then I came out and celebrated the money we raised in his memory, and started planning all the good we'll do with it.

I miss my baby so deeply today.

Katie

It's a heartache......

I'm channeling some Bonnie Tyler this afternoon with these song lyrics:

It's a heart ache, nothing but a heart ache,
Hits you when it's too late,
Hits you when you're down.
It's a heart ache, nothing but a heart ache,
Love him 'til your arms break...........

I've been missing Everett a lot lately. Not to say that I've been missing him more then usual, but perhaps more intensely then usual. This happens, the grief ebbs and flows, intensifies then pacifies.

It hurts in a peculiar way some days, when his name sounds foreign to me, because it hasn't been used the way the other kids names have been used, it's been years since we spoke it to him, it's been years since we spoke it and spoke about him in the present tense. That is, it's been years since the name accompanies a presence. The name alone, some days, feel hollow, like an empty promise.

It hurts to see his picture on the wall and to know that he's an important member of our family, he's on of our children, yet we don''t have him to hold, to touch, to raise, to love, and to raise. Again, it feels hollow, it feels empty, and it feels strangely disconnected. The absence of the connection is what hurts. It hurts to feel distant from him, the weight of his body in our arms, the sound of his cry, the feel of his skin under our kiss, the softness of him. That these are just memories is what hurts so much when the grief rises up.

Where have those feelings gone? The ones we hoped would never fade.
We swore we'd always remember how he felt in our arms, how he sounded, how he smelled, how he looked, what it felt like to love him and parent him. But those feelings have faded without our consent. The memories too. The biggest agony I've felt since losing Everett is feeling as though he is becoming a stranger to me. That he is becoming just a memory, he's not the intense presence I always hoped he'd be. That is a pain I did not anticipate.

I'm trying so hard to cling to the feelings that connect us to the time where we had Everett, when he was real and tangible and touchable, and that often means pouring myself into the deepest of grief and resurfacing the most painful memories to bring up real, painful and still deeply connected emotions, clinging to his memory, wanting to be holding him, holding him so hard my arms would feel as though they could break.

Is it possible, that more frightening then a broken heart is a healing one?

Katie