“…And tonight, just for a little while, that means that I welcome my old friend Grief back into the room and together, tissues in hand, we sit and talk for a little while.”
-Sharing the Journey-

I’m certain by now, people think I’m stark raving mad for continuing to talk about Jack and our loss.  Everyone is entitled to their thoughts and until you have walked in my shoes, I can’t expect you to understand. I don’t expect anything from anyone anymore because I know for everyone else, life has moved on and in their minds, our lives should have moved on too. That is the funny thing though about suffering the loss of a child. The loss never goes away. We don’t have memories of our children to help us ease through the moments of loneliness or emptiness. Or we have very few of them to call on. When you loose a grandparent, you can sit and reminisce about all of your times with them. But when you get only two short days to be with your child that you worked so hard to grow and love, well again, I can’t expect you to understand. And really, we were lucky. SO many people don’t get to meet their children when they are still alive.

You don’t get asked questions that constantly remind you of a loss. People don’t say “how many grandparents do you have?” every time you sit down at the hair dressers chair. But I get asked how many kids I have. And every time I have to wrestle with the answer I want to give. Do I want to tell them about Jack? Do I share him with this stranger? Or do I take the easier route and only mention Owen? When I opt for the latter, I feel shattered that I have disregarded Jack’s precious life. When I do share him I risk getting the responses I dread. Things like- “oh I’m so sorry, at least now you have your new baby” and “oh well he is with God now watching down on you”. Really, a simple “I’m sorry” is good. Don’t try to take away the pain with words, it won’t work.

I guess tonight I am really missing Jack. It’s nights when I lay Owen down and watch him sleep that I feel inside of me this knowing. A knowing that there should be two sleeping boys in my house. That I should have a toddler to chase and to wake up in the middle of the night. That Jack should be there, poking at his little brother with curiosity. It literally feels like I am torn to pieces inside. I want to enjoy every moment, every second of Owen. But with my entire being, I still whole heartedly miss Jack. And with every new thing Owen does I think, “would Jack have done this too?”.

Then of course there is the paranoia I think that comes naturally when you have a rainbow baby after a loss. So while I am missing Jack, I am constantly afraid of loosing Owen. It’s disturbing I’m sure, but when I lay Owen down at night, I whisper to him “please don’t die”. Oh yes. That is my reality.

So I guess to conclude I would say please don’t judge someone based on what you think you know. I don’t post things about Jack or pregnancy and infant loss just to bring you down or remind you of something unpleasant. I do it to raise awareness and to help keep our sons memory alive. And if I bother you, well there is always the very easy option of unfriending or blocking me. I won’t be offended.

~EH

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