HPB

A few weeks ago on Henry's birth-day, I wrote how I didn't know what to think about it being two years ago that he died. I am beginning to grasp what has been going through my mind and though not many words are in my head to describe it, I'm going to see what comes out of my fingers as I type.

I began to realize my feelings, and the words that might best describe them, as I took this photo today. This is Henry's weeping cherry tree at my parents house. It has grown tall and beautiful these last two years. And I took a lot of photos today of its pink blossoms, its buds about to bloom and the beautiful tiny petals. A lot of photos more beautiful than this one. When I took it, two words came into my head and I knew it wasn't just describing this tree or this photo. This photo, to me, is both haunting and beautiful, and so is what happened to us and Henry.

I still have a hard time wrapping my head around it. So many things have happened in the last 2 years. So many things that have made my brain potentially permanently cloudy. And I have an ability to push thoughts in the back of my mind; way in the back where those clouds are extra thick and stormy. I don't tend to think about what actually happened, as in the details of the day and the details of the emotions. The grief. The pain. But sometimes, something happens and I stop and say in my head,  "Holy shit. Our baby died." It's almost as if it happened to someone else. It wasn't us. I feel so bad for those people that happened to. To loose their baby, I can't even imagine. It wasn't us. And then I remember laying on the table in the OB office, sonogram jelly still warm on my 39 week stomach, looking up at the doctor who's own tears were falling down on my face as she squeezed my hand. I remember thinking "I have to call my mom. She's going to be heartbroken." and "How is Phil going to get through this?" and then I heard "most of the time we never know why these things happen" as I was thinking "I knew the braxton hicks contraction 4 days ago was the last time I felt him move. Why didn't I pull the car over?" and "how am I going to deliver this baby?"

I called my mom and I think I called my sisters, but to be honest, I dont remember for sure. I cleaned up my face before walking back out in the waiting room. There were too many happy expecing mothers, I didn't want them to worry.

My defense system in my head is rock solid. I protect myself really well from feeling too much pain, stress, worry. It lets enough through that I'm human, but not enough that I am immobilized which is what I would have been had the system failed this particular day. It kicked in and Meghan went blank. Someone else took over and I got that IV, started that pitocin, cussed my way through 2 epidural attempts and thankfully only a few minutes of pushing. Someone else quickly held that baby boy. Looked at him not understanding.

Today, we walked honoring Henry in the March of Dimes, March for Babies. Our team raised WAY more than we expected and for a while I couldn't figure out why we have been so successful. I didn't understand why so many people would care that much about our little team, our little story. But I realized it really isn't a little story. It's likely, hopefully, the biggest story to happen in my life. People might care because they really are the ones saying "to loose their baby, I can't even imagine." Or it might be that it's not about us at all. Maybe they have their own stories. Their own death, heartbreak, struggles with pregnancy and miscarriage, premature birth, NICU stays, Down Syndrome. Maybe it's about them. There are unfortunately too many sorrowful reasons why one would want to help out a cause that strives to make sure every baby is born healthy. No matter who's story it is, no matter why someone is walking on a blustery, cold, early Sunday morning, it's about honor and remembering. For me, I needed to remember those details. To remember the pain. The raw hurt. The wound left open to heal itself that still seeps from time to time.

Our world changed March 26, 2009; but it kept moving on. I need to remember to let myself feel that hurt. Because if I don't, I'm just moving without any recollection of all that happened to get me where I am. Am I healed? No. I'm a damn good faker though, and I might get there one day. But I hope I don't. I hope I carry a little bit of hurt. Because all the photos and weeping cherry trees and "H" paraphernalia around doesn't make me really remember. The hurt does.

And it's haunting. And it's beautiful.

And the cause of my sore elbow this weekend. He is a booger not wanting to be more than 3.5 inches away from my side, but damn if he isn't worth the inflammation in my joints and pain across my forehead he caused. :)