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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7 thoughts on “5 months

  1. Babe, your writing is so beautiful in the rawest sense. I love you and you are not alone in your thoughts, the silence in our home is the worse part.
    I love you so much, I’m right beside you forever.
    ❤Luca loves. ❤

  2. So completely and utterly LOST, yes.

    Modern medicine simply doesn’t have all the answers, all the solutions, as much as we’d like to believe that. Sometimes I think that shit just happens. We can’t always know how or why. I’m sorry you are suffering with birth trauma too.

    I think the grief of losing your first child is different (no more, no less, just different) to losing your 2nd, or 3rd, or 6th. I cannot tell you what Luca’s first smile would be like, though I wish I could, and wish even moreso that he was here to show you himself.

    It sounds like you were amazing mothers to Luca in the time he was here, and you will continue to find ways to mother him now, somehow.

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