January 19th marks a year since the day I sat in a hospital room and was told what I feared was true. Your heart had stopped beating. You hadn't been growing properly and even though you had a weak heartbeat 2 days earlier it was gone now. January 22nd it will be a year since that awful night of labor that ultimately ended with me leaving your body in some hospital in Orlando without ever having gotten to see your face. It's been a hard year since then and I don't quite know how to properly acknowledge that a year has past. It is something I have thought about a lot but haven't been able to come up with a good answer. I promised myself I would allow myself the space and time in those days to feel sad if I needed to. I also promised myself that however I need to feel it needs to end by January 23rd. I've felt so guilty all this time that this loss is so close to Mack's birthday and I cannot let it overshadow that for him.
Losing you has taught me a lot in the past year. I've learned that even when my knees feel like they are going to buckle and I have no idea how to get through the overwhelming feelings I may have in one moment; the next moment will come somehow and I will still be there.
I have learned how lucky I am to have people in my life who are so thoughtful and caring. That there will be people who can leave you feeling wrapped in love even when you feel like nothing can help you feel better.
I have learned to trust when it feels really hard. I have learned to trust God even when it doesn't make sense and especially when it hurts. Because if I hold on and open myself to it God will come through and give me a sense of peace when I need it most.
I have learned that just because we never met you doesn't mean that Conor and Mack don't have a baby brother that they will always love. I have learned through watching them that just because it doesn't look the way I thought it would they can still have a loving relationship with you. Watching them pray by your tree and chase butterflies they see in the yard helps me to see there are other ways to stay connected to you when we cannot see or hold you. You help them feel safe when they sleep and hold their "Baby Z bears" and they still keep you alive when they tell others about their baby brother. I have learned how to explain death to my children and to begin to accept that I cannot keep them from being hurt. I have learned to bite my tongue and allow them to express their love and understanding of your death in ways that feel right to them.
I have learned to love your father in a new and special way that makes me feel connected to him I never knew. After all because the world never really got to know you there is nobody who loves you and misses you quite like we do. And there's something about him loving you too that helps me feel more connected to him.
I have learned to appreciate your father in ways I never did before. In days where I feel like he is having to give so much more then I am capable of giving to keep our family going I have learned that he can be counted on to keep us afloat. And on days where I feel bad because it must be tiring for him to carry so much of the load he shows me love and appreciation for what little I can manage. And I can't help but think how lucky I am to have his love and support.
I have learned to stop pushing myself aside and do the things I need to do for me. That may be to go for a walk by myself to clear my head, to go to the store by myself to escape and get some peace or to go do something to relax just for me. Whatever it is I need to do I have learned to give myself a break and allow myself to take care of those needs free from guilt(Maybe I'm still learning this but I try to free myself from the guilt).
I think the greatest thing I learned was to allow myself to not be okay. All these years with Conor's health I had been training myself to compartmentalize. To push everything aside and be "OK" even when I wasn't. It started with his first hospitalization. I learned to keep myself together even when it felt awful long enough to get through whatever I needed to do. I could always cry in a bathroom or behind sunglasses in the car later when he was sleeping or playing video games. I could hold him down for a needle and not let the crying and fighting break me until the doctors were gone he was occupied and I could stare out a window with my back towards him as tears come down. I had gotten so used to pretending I was okay that after my first miscarriage the doctor called to explain what to expect and despite the fact that I had been crying forever I answered the phone calmly and "happily" said I was good when the doctor asked how I was. It made him a little uncomfortable and nervous as he thought maybe I hadn't gotten the bad news yet. I had though I just was not capable of letting him see I was not okay. I still compartmentalize and need to keep myself together at Conor's appointments but I'm getting better at acknowledging I'm not okay when I'm struggling.
And it's taking some time and some days are easier then others but I am learning that I can love Belle without it being a betrayal of you. I am learning that I can be grateful and happy to have her and that doesn't make me miss or want you any less. And I am learning that while it is scary I can let myself be excited about meeting Belle. And hopefully I can learn to look forward to her arrival without feeling like it could all go wrong.
I love you Z and I'll miss you forever. For better or worse your life will always have made a lasting mark on me.
