I’ve been in a funk the past few days. I keep wondering why I’m feeling this way when it’s a new year and I was excited about the pages on the calendar turning, bringing a new energy, bringing in ease.
And here I am with this sadness.
Sometimes it feels old – like a discontent I have lived with too long, though I thought we had parted ways. Then it’s fresh again, the deep sorrow of loss. Either way, I’ve been less than compassionate with myself.
Tonight as I lay with Ada, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, waiting for the little twitches that let me know she’s asleep, I wondered about heartbeats. I thought about how Ben’s fluctuated wildly at the end. Then I thought, He’s been dead as long as he was alive.
I checked the calendar.
Today is 23 weeks from the day he died.
He died 23 weeks from the day he was conceived.
My body knew.
My heart knew.
We took the Christmas tree down today. I saved one ornament with his name to hang at my desk.
My heart knew.
23 weeks.
He’s been dead as long as he was alive.
How is that possible?
It’s *impossible*. So heartbreaking and so utterly unfair. But we persevere. Sending you huge hugs and hand squeezes from across the pond.
This entry brought tears to my eyes (not hard these days!)
I remember so acutely the day that I realised that my boy had been gone longer than he was alive. Our babies lives are so fleeting, such a short moment in time…it never seems possible. We are approaching 3 years since my boy died, and I am constantly thinking “how did this happen? Has it really been three years?
Thoughts and love with you, and Benjamin.
xxx