5 months

I woke up feeling a bit numb today, so I thought I should write.

5 months ago today Luca entered the world.

I’m still here, and he’s not. I”m sitting in the living room with a new puppy next to me, my wife hovering in the kitchen, and there is so much….silence.

On days like the anniversary of his birthday, I think of what would have been.

For you parents out there that have had first words, first steps, first smiles, first hugs; how does that feel?

I long to know because I have no idea what it could be like. All I can do sometimes is sit and wonder what he would have been like at 5 months old. How big would he be? What would he smell like? What would it feel like to have his hand wrap around my fingers? Would he have fit into his red swimming trunks? Would he love being held in the beautiful carrier we got him? Would he move around a bit to music yet? Would he be trying any food yet? What sorts of crazy shirts that G made would he be wearing? How would he interact with his baby friends? All those babies around us that were going to be his instant playgroup, I see them grow up, I see their pictures and imagine him next to them. Who would Luca be right now, at this very moment, in my arms, at 5 months old?

My therapist told me that loss like this leaves you in the rule of thirds. 1/3 of your community will rise up to the occasion and support you, talk about the loss and surround you with love, 1/3 will attempt to but then actually end up hurting you, and 1/3 will do nothing at all, and ignore it.

Shit. She was right. 5 months out, still in the thickness of missing Luca, and instead of a baby boy to carry, I hold grief everyday. I mourn for my son. I pass by pregnant women and I wish I could turn back time, we pass by families with babies, and I wish that was us.

And I’m thankful for the 1/3 of you that are always checking in, making efforts to see us, providing us with comfort and trying to make us laugh, and all of you who bring up Luca and tell us that you miss him.

5 months.

It’s pain. I have to talk about it, and that’s the beauty of having this blog. It’s my forum to talk about this pain that not very many people want to approach.  It’s the most pain I’ve ever felt. Far beyond my family loss and issues with my immediate family , because this was going to be our chance at rewriting history. At raising a child like we wished we had been raised, with love and support, making the best decisions for him because he was going to be ours. Travel, traditions, love, culture, food, music- these were things that we wanted to share with Luca.

When we lost Luca, we felt like we lost the chance of creating this family that we had envisioned for so long. He was in our holiday picture last year- in my belly, but he was there. This year’s picture should have a vibrant 8 month old, and instead, it will be childless.

I think of the holidays and it makes me cringe. I don’t even want to do a picture this year. This is what I think about in the silence.

5 months.

And then there was such trauma surrounding Luca’s birth, beyond his death. And these are the thoughts that I have to process. I still wonder how his condition was not detected, I still wonder what the hell happened that my baby died? All these crazy things happen with babies being born so premature and with health issues, and they survive. So how is it that my baby, my Golden Light, couldn’t make it? Why did my body do that to him?

I feel like I’ve lost my way in life. That now nothing seems to make any sense. I feel as if I have no purpose.

I’ve lost my compass. I wanted to be Luca’s mother, and I don’t get to be. He was going to be life, and now he’s not here, so what exactly is life about now?

5 months. Without Luca.

5 months.

5 months.

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Round and Around

Around and around we go, in a circle that seemingly never ends. Every night we end up in the same place, every morning we wake up in that exact same place.

In this stage of our grief, what has become so evident is how stuck we are.

As many have pointed out to us, life goes on.

Not for us. Not now. Maybe later. But certainly not now.

But how do I snap out of this feeling of stuck? How do I not feel that same way every morning, and every evening?

We went from one life, so very ready to move to the next stage. Our child.

One day I was pregnant, and the next day, literally, the next day, I wasn’t pregnant anymore, and he was gone.

It’s like I’m stuck in this vortex- trying to figure out what happened and where Luca went. And at just shy of 5 months  since he left his physical body, all the sweet babies born around his birth date keep growing. Babies born now, babies born next week will grow.  Everyone else keeps growing and living.

And we are here childless. Trying to figure out how to make it through the day, and hoping to get a sign from Luca letting us know he’s around. Hoping that someone around us will say Luca’s name. Anything. I feel like most days we are just grasping.

My beautiful wife is in the kitchen making me dinner as I’m stuck to the couch. All I can do is write to try and make some sense of this experience. All I can do is try to document these feelings so I can read them over and over and understand that I’m only so messed up right now because my love for my son is so very big. It’s bigger and stronger than I could have ever imagined. And that’s why this grief, this feeling of loss, is larger than anything I’ve ever known.

Losing my baby- others that had been through the same experience told me it was going to be a full time job, and it has been. I feel like I put in my 40 hours at work, and then I put in 80 hours of loving and trying to honor my son as best I know how at this moment. But there is no instruction manual for the loss of your child, and trying to figure it out can be exhausting.

So everyday we ride the roller coaster. Wondering what tomorrow is going to be like, and knowing that if today sucked, there is a chance it will be lighter tomorrow. And we hold on to each other tight. With so much love. Because it’s from all this love that we have for each other that Luca existed in the first place.

It comforts me to know at night, when I cry myself to sleep sometimes, she will wrap me up in her arms and tell me she knows what I’m feeling. She knows, because she feels it too. He was so loved by the both of us. He will always be loved by both of his mamas.

And there is a glimmer of light, because I know we will make our way through this. A moment at a time, day after day.

And maybe one day, we will step out of this hamster wheel .

 

Family PIC

If only we could turn back time.