We are home.

We came home to a clean apartment, cards, gifts and food. I cried.

Ada picked up her guitar and started singing, making up songs “for my little brother Mama”.

My mom arrived. She will be here for a week, then my father will take over until the end of the month. Steve is home for three days, then goes to Germany. I was afraid of that trip. Afraid that if something happened while he was away, he wouldn’t be able to get home fast enough. It’s happened though. Benjamin is gone.

My body is healing. I was able to turn on my side last night in bed. For three weeks I lay awake at night, trying to get comfortable, trying not to worry too much, and longing to lie on my back. Now the pain keeps me stuck there. I will be happy to sleep in my own bed again.

*****

I woke up early this morning and reached for my phone to check my email. Patti Digh’s 37 Days newsletter was there from yesterday. I haven’t been reading much of what comes into my inbox but decided to take a look. It was easier than thinking or feeling.

A link said simply “Wide Awake and Grieving”. I clicked. It took me here. Something in these words resonated so deeply with me. My grieving process is just beginning and I’m doing a pretty great job of holding it together but I feel deep inside the need to break wide open. It will come in time. It’s too scary right now.

*****

Mama, I always know when you’re crying.

I know you do, sweetheart. I know.

It has been one week since Benjamin’s…birth? Death? What do I call it? Soon it will be one month, then one year, then ten years. The healing will happen because it must. It is what we do as human beings – we heal or we die. I will heal.

Today I am nursing a sick little girl and my own stomach upset. Our host was up all night with a stomach bug and it seems that Ada and I are the ones to have caught it. I am praying for sleep to bring relief and hoping my incisions get a night of rest, not a workout.

I am exhausted, overwhelmed and in spite of others’ presence, feel so alone. I want my husband. I want someone to take care of me. I want a healthy daughter. She so rarely gets sick and after losing one child, the fear of losing the other has grabbed me by the throat. I imagine that’s normal. I breathe deeply and let it go.

Ada and I have been having these lovely conversations before bed the last few nights. We talk about all sorts of things. She usually says something about the baby or her brother. Last night she wanted to be reminded of his name.

His name is Benjamin, sweetheart. Or you could call him Ben, or Benji.

She smiles. Where is he now Mama?

His body died my sweet, but his spirit, the part inside each of us that makes us who we are, his spirit is watching over us, taking care of us.

She smiles again. He’s in our hearts Mama.

Yes, he is. He’s in our hearts forever.

An angel. She knows this from the book the hospital gave us for her.

I nod. An angel. You can talk to him if you want to.

I don’t want to.

Okay sweetheart, you don’t have to.

Mama, what’s my brother’s name again?

Benjamin, I smile. Or you can call him Ben or Benji.

I realized tonight as I held Ada in my arms and felt her fall asleep that I am afraid of September. My parents will be gone, the home cooked meal delivery will stop and everyone else will go on with their lives.
It will be just me, just us: Mama, Daddy, Ada and the hole where Benjamin was. What happens then? How am I going to get through the day then?