117 days and a holiday

117 days ago, Luca D’oro was born. 116 days ago, Luca D’oro passed on.

I’m not familiar yet with what makes some days just harder than others. And let me state that yes, there are days that are better than others, where I laugh and smile. I don’t write about them because they honestly don’t happen enough to want to steal time away from them to write about it. But they are there.

Well maybe I am aware of the correlations between the heaviness of grief and holidays, and I just don’t want to really see it. Days off from work would have meant time spent with my family of 4; maybe our first trip to Jalama, maybe Luca’s first time in the ocean, maybe  something, anything, just not this.

After a beautiful morning of Independence Day with dear friends, the day took a turn for the worse. The knots in my throat get so big, I can’t even speak; at moments like this, all I can do is let out this almost inaudible heavy breath.

We watched Long Island Medium the rest of the afternoon. It offers us comfort, makes us feel not so alone in our grief when we see so many other people out there being touched by the spirit the medium interacts with. It doesn’t make it any better, but anything that helps is part of our healing plan especially when we are in those moments when we feel so…..

Down. Low. Empty.

Sometimes I feel guilty saying those words. We were lucky enough to spend those nine months with Luca. We were so very lucky to have that time with him when he was still breathing in our arms. This missing we feel for him would never be if he wasn’t loved so very much, if we didn’t have this love big enough to have made the decision to want a family to raise together.

And I too realize how blessed I am by the universe to let me travel this world with G. I realize what a strong and wonderful love we share. It came about long before Luca, and will be there long after.  She went through what had to be the hardest experiences a person could ever go through, almost losing her wife, and losing her son. She is my home, my rock, my love, my sense of connection when this world seems so unbearable sometimes. She, is everything.

But when I look over and see her tears, feel her broken, wishing and wanting that time with Luca, I know all we can do for each other is hold on and rely on our love to get us through.

I know I’ve said this before, but this grief, this pain, it’s absolutely isolating. It’s life changing. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and it’s forced us to become so very aware of how others deal with grief and pain. We’ve had love and support which we have to focus on, because it helps to get us through. And we still need it. I feel like right  now we may need it more than ever.

I think back to that naivete that we had, such bliss we felt in expecting Luca, and now being at the polar opposite end of that spectrum of feelings.

It hasn’t even been 4 months yet.  I think about what a beautiful baby boy he was, and how stinking cute he would have been at 4 months, a belly I never even got to see, eyes I never witnessed opening.  I feel so very cheated when I say that. I never got to experience any of it, I carried him to full term and the first time I held him I had to say hello and goodbye.

Then I’m told by my therapist that this 3-4 month marker is a difficult time, because the shock has warn off, and your mind has become, well, un-numbed. You are in the thick of the loss again.

As if I had ever really left it.


I tell you everyday.

I love you.

I miss you.

I wish you were here in my arms.

I wish you were waiting for me at the door with mommy when I came home from work.

I wish I could squeeze you and kiss you all over.

To feel you somehow, to take care of you and nurture you; to be your mother here on earth.

I walk around with this big empty, like a melon baller has scooped out this huge piece of my being.

You were so loved. You are so loved. You were everything. You are everything. Still.

I love you.

I miss you.

I wish you were here in my arms.

An Altar for Our Luca

An Altar for Our Luca