Wandering Wonders

I meandered….I wandered in my wondering mind.

I searched for what was not to be found.

The purpose that carried me to the hospital foisted on me a wondering spirit. I was drawn, and pulled to my wife. What I found caused the loss. The news.

What was I to do?

I knew not, and still do not. I am all that I am. What I thought was a juncture, was at best a stall, and for all I can see is a dead end.

I searched for trinkets, and found them. The trinkets I found were cold, yet those trinkets brought a semblance of warmth to my wife. To me, they were cold, as I wandered back…

The Wretched Wanting

These are the thoughts that bubble to the surface. Emotions, especially the darker side of our emotional spectrum, I have found, are like bubbles trapped beneath a body of water's surface. Sometimes a slip occurs, and these bubbles are released to escape to the surface. I have no idea what stirred the waters this morning:

I have never felt as hapless and helpless as a human being.

When I held my little boy….there was not a damn thing that I could do for him.

It was impossible to protect him.

There was not a single thing that I could do to bring him back.

He was peaceful, but he was inhumanly gone.

And, there was not a thing I could do to change that….

My baby boy….and I could do nothing….I had done nothing but wait….and watch….and RELY on others. I am proactive. I am one that likes to jump into the fray. I am a lawyer. That is why I became a lawyer. To carry about change, to effectuate solutions to problems for people. I go down fighting for people even when the odds are so stacked against them.

But here, when it matter most to the people and lives that mean the most to me. I failed. I could not go down fighting because I had not even begun a fight. I was a mere spectator to events that would so effect me for the rest of my life. But, more importantly, to a life that depended on me for all that it was to be. And, I came up wanting by merely watching.

I was passive. I had to be. I was forced to be a spectator to the singular most important event in my lifetime. I could not rise to an occasion and thereby gave him no occasion. There was nothing that I could do.

It wretched, and wretches my soul thinking on these matters.

Collective Journaling

Mother and I have "resolved" to journal our recounting of what was our evolution, and devolution – our roller coaster – of experiences before, during and after the pregnancy.

It is what we hope to be therapeutic for ourselves, sisters and individually.

I know what will be the struggle between us, our ability to synthesize what our objectives will be. I do not want to strictly want to sequence the events, but feel overwhelmed each time I think of where and how to begin.

In "throwing up my arms," my brainstorming led to something, anything joyful to begin…

Wish us luck!

Bitterness. Sweetness.

Bitterness. Sweetness.

Mostly sweet, but the bitterness is ever present, and there for the sharpest contrast, and there like a shot from a hair-trigger's glance.

This was the day of his two sister's 2^nd birthday. In all actuality, this was and is his birthday, as well.

I know the proper word, or the proper description since he had passed 12 days prior in utero.

It is just, as it always is…a stark contrast of feelings. This year was more methodical, it was more of a procedure I followed. That scares me, it always scares me when I feel as though he is that much further from me.

I recall that the very first birthday….in the midst of family, and friends…the party that we dubbed as the "thank-you" party for all the prayers, love , support and blessings…..I slipped away upstairs to speak with him. I wanted to let him know that he was not forgotten, and that I loved him. Oh, how much I missed him and wanted him to be with all of us to share in the joy that was in our home that day…

This year, it was cold outside, and my heart was somewhat cold. I was and always will be happy for my girls. Though, I think each that passes will be that much more difficult for me as everyone moves forward. It is always that much more difficult to be around others, for they never fully show, and quite possibly never really ascertain the feelings that permeate each of these instances….and, it is particularly difficult since they do not grasp, and they do not contemplate….

Nevertheless, I am so scared that I will grow more like them….and, that is the furthest thing that I want to be.

Dichotomy

This was something I penned the morning of the anniversary….a still morning 2 years from the day.

Dichotomy

Dichotomy of what I am, and what I what I want to be.

Dichotomy of what is, and what was meant for thee.

 

Happiness of knowing you were my three,

It was all I could do to wait and see.

 

The worry for your health as you grew

And your Mother did all that she could humanly do.

 

Your growth, your development was an eternity;

But each day during that time felt like the first day.

 

I worried for you four,

Not knowing what God had in store.

 

I was so confused as to my place,

But, I knew when I saw your Mother's face.

 

I needed to be who I am, it was that simple,

Yet, it was not….

 

We were resolute,

We would fight for each of you.

 

Your sister's heart was what grabbed our attention,

But, it brought up the question.

 

That so many did not fully appreciate

What would that do to each separate?

 

That if it worked for sister to resolve

How would that effect each, and all?

 

From the moments your sisters tasted air

I knew holding you, my heart would have this permanent tear.

 

It is that way each time I see their face

Time has failed to erase

 

My longing to hold you, and call you MY son.

And, this journey is far from done….

Shuffle

Everything is incomplete…

Everything is shuffled.

Shuffle to this, shuffle to that….

No waiting, no digesting…..

I am forced to move on, to move from point A to point B. I cannot absorb, and I cannot reflect on what it is….I cannot see things from what they are, and what they were.

I cannot enjoy the moments that I have.

I long for the moments I had where I felt him kick inside of his Mother. I long for those moments of peace, when everything was the way I wanted it to be.

Rush.

Show.

Move on.

Get over it.

The only times I left that are not shuffled are ones in which are now filled with a void….at best. Those not filled with a void are those that filled with unbearable pain.

There are no moments of peace, where the only violence is a soft kick.

The only semblance of peace was January 18, 2010 where Mother and I just sat…sat in disbelief, sat to ponder. It took us nearly 2 years to reach that point in which we could both find peace in each other's arms.

2

Of all days, I came across this very post….

Here I am, I am on the eve….the eve of the day that is an indelible mark, the point of reference for most everyone but my wife and I. The day that those that do not live this day every day can point to, along with us….only to shove off, and move forward for the remaining 364 days.

I do not know where I am here at 2 years, but I know where he is….

In so many ways it does not feel like 2 years have passed, but in so many ways that day is seared, tattooed to my heart.

I am at work, and my colleagues go about daily business, shuffling clients to and fro whereas I reflect of exactly where I was, and what was going on with particular clients in the minutiae of what was that day when he passed. In so many ways that is what it is….what it is like….

To pause, to reflect…to silently scream each and every day at everyone at the pain that is tearing me apart….it is a constant struggle.

At 2, his sisters are 2….and rarely a moment goes by where I do not well up pondering how he would fit in, how he would interact with his sisters. I wonder if we were playing chase, would he be chasing them with me, or I would be chasing him? Would he cling to me, or would he be a Mamma's boy? Infinite moments pondering…

Life is moving on, but at the same time, it is stationary…

I know in these days, I grow more and more scared. I am scared that I somehow will forget him….that the sweet memory I have of him dissipates more and more….that the memories that warmed me up so are slowly slipping away.

That is what I fear the most, I hurt, and I fear…then I hurt because I fear. And, then the hurt from the fear turns to guilt…..

I am unable to describe, but at the same time I know precisely what I feel…..

And, I guess that is what the author herein was describing….I pulled his scrapbook from my desk today…he is always my sweet, fragile baby boy…and he will always be that precious and fragile being…..

Not a day goes by, rarely an hour or a moment does, that I do not miss my baby boy….