Love Letter #4

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” - Lao Tzu


Jackson-


Today I write to you.

Today I need to write to you.


I have written you a thousand letters in my head and in my heart, but today I need to put something in black and white. Time to flesh it out.


I have no pictures. I just have words.

It is hard to believe that you are 10 months old, and just a few weeks short of 11 months. Double digits. How did that happen? Why does it have to happen? I feel like any parent on this one. You look at your baby and wonder, where did the time go and why are you getting older? Do you really have to grow up? You want them to stay right like they are. You want to freeze time forever. If I could hold right here for just a little while, I think I would be alright. I want to stop time right here. I am not ready to move on. I am not prepared for what is ahead.

In less than two months, the wound that I have been trying to heal and pack ice around will get ripped open again. I am going to need some fresh ice and fresh bandages.


Since we cannot freeze time and stay in this very moment....we will just take it one day at a time. That is what we have done since Day 1, so why would the days ahead be any different. Chin up. Breathe. Step forward. Repeat.

The only upside to the 1 year mark is this: We can stop measuring time in your "firsts". All those first holidays, first tooth, first steps, first road trip, first words, first food, first this and first that. Sometimes it felt like everyday had a first. This is something we can stop thinking about. We had a year full of virtual firsts and what-might-have-beens. Thankfully, those nightmares can stop. We will never stop thinking of you or wondering what you might be doing, but at least we can emotionally let go of the "firsts". The only "first" that we need to remember and hold onto is that you are our FIRST. You are the greatest first. Our angel first. You made us parents, and we will love you forever, #1.

I have to apologize to you because I have trouble answering the following question that comes up at least 5 times a week.

"Do you have children?" 


I don't mind questions, but this one really hurts. I think it hurts because I want to proudly say, "Yes I do!", but I often say "No I don't". I do this because I do not want to explain everything to everyone I meet. When I say "No", I feel like a little piece of my glued together heart chips off. I can feel your disappointment. I can feel the distance between you and me grow when I say "No". 
Mothers know their children inside-and-out, and I know that this response hurts you as much as it hurts me. It is such a hard question because I want people to ask about YOU and say your name, but I have trouble when people who do not even know you or even know me ask this simple, innocent question. They do not mean to hurt me, I know this. The world is just a tough place for those that have lost something. I want you to know how hard this question is for me, and how much it hurts when I chose to say "No". I promise you that you are not being shoved in a box somewhere, and forgotten. Far from it, my love.

I can only imagine the next level of this question. Picture me pregnant.

"Is this your first?"

Good Heavens. Maybe by that point, I will have this figured out and be able to slay that question.

Now, the proper answer would be, "No. It is not. It is our second.". That would be the appropriate time to say "No".  At that point, maybe "No" will feel better than it does now because that answer would be the right one.

One day, our story will resume. One day we will know that every step of this journey meant something. One day, we will have this all figured out.

Not today.

We love you.

We miss you.

We need you more than ever.

We would give anything for one of anything with you. Just one first.  Or just one moment with our first.

I have the most vivid dreams about you. This is where I visit you the most. Sometimes I wake up and think you are really here, and sometimes I wake up sobbing because the dream was too cruel to be true. I have dreams of you cuddled on my chest, as I euphorically watch the rise and fall of your chest with mine. I can feel you drift off into sleep and become a sack of flour in my arms. I dream of how the top of year head smells and feels, because the top of babies heads is one of the most magical smells ever. I dream of your Daddy holding you while the three of us are snuggled up in the bed watching TV.  I have dreams of bath time, feeding time, play time, and just you and me time. I dream about your nursery, and rocking you in the chair by the window. I dream of your smile, your nose, and your larger than life feet. I dream of your perfection and wonder why it was taken from me.

Sometimes my dreams are ugly. I dream of the hospital where I went in full of baby and left with empty arms. I dream of the moment they cut me open and how that felt. I dream of the words that I heard in the OR, and how mute I felt in that moment. I dream about the moment they said, "Get it out!" in the OR, and remembering how mad I was that "it" was a "he" and his name was "Jackson". How dare they? Once your mother, always your mother I suppose. I dream about the nurses who helped me, and how they did not understand either.  I dream about how lonely it was at night in the hospital and how I cried all night. I dream about hearing you cry in the middle of the night, and when I wake not only are you not here, but the house is quiet. I look for a baby monitor on my bedside table, instead I find a glass of water, a phone and a People magazine. Where did that cry come from? It seemed so real. It was like you were really here. I am here looking for you and I cannot find you. I hear you cry and I know you need me. I cry out for you. Can you hear me Jackson? Where are you?


Dreams are where I find you, hold you and love you. Dreams are also a way that my mind is attempting to process the mountain of things that happened that day and everyday since. Good, bad or ugly I am thankful for these dreams. In many ways, the dreams are better than reality. After all, I have always been a dreamer.

I know that I will dream of you often, and for the rest of my life. I am good with that. That is our place and space, and I will always find you there. At the end of even the toughest dream, I still see you. Somewhere in that messy pile of unprocessed memories, is your beautiful face. 


We love you so much, Jackson Neil.

Until the next dream.....

Love,

Mom and Dad