It’s been too long since I’ve written.
The last few months have gone by so quickly, and at the same time the days have dragged on, as we steer through the unpredictable waves of our grief.
I’ve mentioned it before, but there are many layers to this grief. I grieve for the loss of my son, and for the loss of what life was going to be with him in it. I grieve because I miss him in my belly, the proof that he existed. I grieve because of the loss of connection I have had with people in my life that I thought would be so involved in Luca’s life. I grieve Saturday morning snuggle times, G and Luca’s matching outfits, and connecting with other mama’s on the milestones our babies come to.
I miss him. Everyday. I stare at his picture, and I think about what I would do to have him back in my arms for even a minute. What I would do in that minute. I would count all this toes and fingers, kiss his forehead, unwrap him and look at his belly, at his kneecaps. I would kiss him all over and I would tell him that he was my greatest accomplishment, and that he had changed my life forever. That I long to have him in my arms, every day of my life.
Before Luca was born, I was his mother. And I remain his mother, no matter that he isn’t alive on this earth.
These 7 months since Luca was born, have been the hardest 7 months of my entire life. Once the initial shock and raw pain of losing Luca wore off a few months after his passing, we found ourselves floating in and out of this deep and dark depression. It’s hard to hold on to hope sometimes, when the world has seemingly dropped out from underneath you. It’s hard to act happy and give a shit, when sometimes, many times, you just don’t. A lot of this life fluff just doesn’t matter.
My friend, Jess, recently started this amazing blog called Peace Through Grief , and in one of her posts, she tells of her experience after suddenly losing her mother. She says “I became instantly intolerant of trivial crap — and for a while, everything seemed like trivial crap.”
This is exactly how I feel. If it doesn’t have something to do with my son, be it grieving, or healing, I don’t have much mind space for it.
Life is entirely too short to give a real crap about egos, chit chat, and superficial. Losing Luca has taught me to be more authentic, to use my voice when I feel strong enough to, and to seek the connections with others who understand pain and are open to being transformed by it.
I’m not saying I’m this highly enlightened person, but what I am certain of, is that I am open to learning how I can become a better person and be positively changed by the birth and death of my first born son.
Tovah Gold, from www.findingmymuchness.com, lost her twin girls during pregnancy, and recently spoke about how when we are faced with bad things that happen we ask ‘Why? Why did this happen to me?’. A question that I have found myself ask time and time again over the last several months. But Gold tells how ‘why’, translates to the word ‘Lhama’ in the hebrew language, and then goes on to say there is another word, that is the same word but just pronounced differently, which is ‘l’mah.’ And ‘l’mah’ means ‘for what’.
When we take our question of ‘why’, and we change it to ‘for what’, we empower ourselves, we change the question from one of being the victim, to one where we are able to see what good can come out of something so unimaginable and painful.
So now, I will ask myself for what? For what did Luca come into our lives and give us so much love, but leave us so quickly?
I will be more compassionate, in his honor. I will support people in my life who are going through their own pain. I will do my part in helping to relieve some of the pain which other families that are going through this, will have to feel. I will be an even more conscious mother to any of Luca’s siblings that the universe and Luca, send to us. I will look for connection, and pay attention to the universe’s coincidences. And I will honor the love that even made Luca possible, by being as good as a partner as I can to G.
Yes, I’m sad. I should have a 7 month old in my lap. A bouncing baby boy gazing up at me while I go about my day.
Instead I sit here alone, home sick from work, in silence.
But I am doing the very best I can to immerse myself in this grief ,and allow for healing and transformation to happen. Because there are bigger plans for my family, and I’m hopeful to see what’s next.