It takes different forms almost moment by moment.
There are times when I grieve with hope, knowing Luca is with us, watching over us, and amazed by the impact that little man had in our lives.
When we hear a song on the radio that I connect with, one from his birth, one that speaks to my heart. When ‘My Name is Luka’ comes on the radio as we are pulling into the hospital parking lot. Like when G and I go to Whole Foods and where I park on the street, we get out of the car and there is ‘LD’ written directly outside of our car door.
When someone asks me about him, and I get to talk about my son, I know he’s there. All these moments remind me that his spirit is with me, with G, surrounding our little family.
Then there are times where I grieve, and feel in utter despair.
Life goes on all around me, yet I feel stuck in this hamster wheel, where every time I stop, there is one constant; this being that came about by the love I share with G, and the wanting to expand our family, has gone.
He is gone, and I can’t fake being happy. He is gone, and I can’t fake like everything is ok. He is gone, and every minute when we are walking around in circles, we think, he is supposed to be in our arms.
How does one just move on from this? How do you just pick yourself up by the boot straps and get on with life, when he was life? When he was going to be our lives. When he had already become our lives.
We planned for him for years. We wanted everything just so, so we were ready to welcome him into a stable and loving environment, and took our time to make our world ready for our baby. I carried him full term. I labored with him for almost three days.
So tell me, how do I just get happy again? How do you suggest I not worry? Something as completely random as losing your baby because of an undetectable and severe variation of preeclampsia makes you think about what else in your life that you have that can get taken away. Because if this happened to him, then what else? WHAT ELSE????
There is an anxiety now that I have to swallow everyday.
And the silence, in so many ways. Hurts. People don’t want to say his name to us because they don’t want us to cry, or because it makes them uncomfortable, still. But do you know that mentioning his name validates us as his mothers, and makes his presence known in our seemingly empty world? Would you step out of your comfort zone for a moment, to make us feel good for a second in our grief and support us?
Say his name.