I sat up in bed the other night with red, tear stained cheeks, unable to breathe…

I sat up because I was mad.

Mad not because he wasn’t there…mad not because I had only tucked two babies into bed that night…

but mad because I had let this happen.

This crying non sense.

This…replaying what happened in my head nonsense.

Earlier that day…I had thought that thought.

The thought I never understood why people think….

“He would be two…I wonder what he would be like?”

For a split second, I envisioned a blonde, blue eyed, two year old little boy running through my living room. I looked around my living room and laughed at how different my house might look with boy toys…considering everything in our house seems to include some shade of the color pink.

And then as fast as the thought, the scene, and the laugh all came, they left just as fast.

Left behind was my heart… sad and missing him.

On the average day, I don’t think of him. I know that sounds harsh, but I know he is in heaven so there’s really nothing to think about except one day joining him to worship our Savior. There are no pictures of him up although I plan to eventually put one up when they no longer make me sad. We rarely discuss it. I honestly try to think on the good things instead, and all the joy and happiness that has been added to my life since carrying him.

Recently, however, there’s been a lot of pressure to replace him. Because I have been given a precious new bundle of life, some feel that with my arms full, I have no reason to ever long for him.

I understand why…

Their hearts hurt when thinking of him…their hearts hurt for me. They want my wound to be healed and just like a good momma bandages her babies’ woundsbandaging my heart with a new baby makes everything all better…right?

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way.

I don’t consider myself to be grieving any longer and haven’t for a long time.

But new babies bring back old memories, and post partum blues add to the already sad reminders.

And laying in bed the other night, I could picture the way my room looked that first day in the hospital. I could see the tv show my friend and I watched as we waited for the first night to pass. I could hear the laughs my friends and I shared as we walked the hallways trying to progress things. I could smell the lavender oils used to keep me calm. I could remember the panic I felt as the doctor rushed in to deliver him, and I could remember the joy I felt the moment I touched his face. The memories brought tears, and for that moment, I just wanted to forget them.

My anger…came from my heart that felt to be sad just wasn’t allowed anymore. I thought this year I wouldn’t deal with this grief…that peace was the constant.

And having a new one….meant I couldn’t mourn for the previous one.

After sitting in the dark for a while, soaking the sheets, I blew my nose, laid back down, and felt His comforting hand come over me.

And he reminded me…having my arms full again doesn’t make it all better. He does. He is my comfort. He is my stay.

and everything’s all better now…thanks to my Savior.

 

Happy Birthday to my not so little boy in heaven. I can’t wait to see the things you’ve been experiencing some day.

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