New Neighbors

The other day I headed out to visit Colton.  I had stayed away for awhile, for no reason I can really pinpoint.  I had an unsettled feeling and didn't want to "press my luck".

I drove into the cemetery and over to his area.  As I drive up I find myself very irritated.  Colton's flowers were gone!!  Now, I concede, they were a little faded and I had already ordered a new set.  But, seriously, there are MUCH worse looking ones, why weren't THEY gone??!!  He's the only kid on the block, too, so REALLY??!!

As I walked over to his headstone I was really upset.  I mean, it just looks too plain and neglected without flowers.  Like I don't even care or something.  In my fury I was oblivious to everything else around me.  Then two little dragonflies floated in front of me and caught my attention.  Then they flew to my left...

... to the new grave that was recently filled next to Colton's.  I just crumbled to my knees. 

Colton's flowers hadn't been removed out of malice or neglect.  They'd be moved for a funeral for another baby.  Colton has his first neighbor. 

I called B hysterical.  I couldn't hardly stop sobbing to tell him why I was so upset.

First, I was so sad for these parents.  I ached so badly, knowing the heart wrenching experience they just went through.  I wanted to reach out to them, to let them know they aren't alone.  To cry with them, to hear about their baby, to acknowledge their horrific loss.

Second, the thought of another baby dying crushed me.  I knew sooner or later Colton would be surrounded by babies that left too soon, but to know another baby died.  I felt like mine had died all over again.  I felt just so sad.

Third, I felt sad for Colton and me.  I was flooded with the pain and ache that I felt the moment we buried him.  Wanting to pull him from that tiny little box and run, run, run until no one could catch us and hold him close to me forever.  I ached for him, for his closeness and comfort. 

I am (im)patiently waiting to see who this baby is... the grave was still too new for any marker.  So I keep checking to see when a headstone is set and who this little life was...who joined Colton.  I plan to leave flowers and a small card for the family.  I know they are strangers, however I know that no matter how different we are we have a common tie that few others can relate to with us.  And, somehow, that makes me feel like I do know them, or at least a small part of their story.  They lost a baby, we lost a baby...

I hope it gets easier.  I hope the next neighbor doesn't sting quite as deep.  Though, realistically, I know that each one will pull on my heart, and each one will evoke a reaction.  These are babies, innocent and pure, and gone.  And there will never be less of an ache in that knowledge. 

Sleep peacefully little ones.. .. ..

My Heart Aches for You

It's coming up on one year since I lost Colton.  As fearful as I've been about it, I am actually feeling good.  I am feeling secure with where I am in healing and comfortable with the progress I made.  I knew there would be challenges and today I was faced with one.

A good friend of mine went to her ultrasound today...  Very sadly, the baby passed.  There was no heartbeat.

I remembered with vividness the gut wrenching moment when the screen had no heartbeat and the look on the technicians face.  I remembered that numb, empty feeling. I remembered that sinking feeling that this child inside me had no life surging through him.  I remembered feeling lost.

My heart broke.  For her this time, not for me.  I felt like for once Colton had a purpose.  I can be a shoulder to my friend, I can understand and support her.  I can grieve with her.  I can understand like no one else can.  It doesn't make anything better or easier on her side, but I finally felt like I had a purpose through is loss.

I also realized it doesn't matter how far along you are (she was 17w), loss sucks.  Once you see that heartbeat and then at any point you don't, the loss hurts the same.  The reaction is the same.  Sure, maybe it does get harder when there is a tangible baby to hold.  Maybe it's harder before that, when there isn't a tangible baby to say goodbye to.  Who knows, who cares.  Loss hurts all the same and loss sucks. 

I also realize that there is nothing good to say.  Even being through it, there is nothing I can say or do that makes anything even the slightest bit better.  It doesn't matter that I can relate or that I understand how she feels.  It's still such a personal pain, such an alone feeling.  There is nothing that remedies that ... nothing that can lessen that crushing blow. 

Heaven has another angel ... much too soon, much grieved, much loved ...