Recently, I found a box of old pictures – always an interesting and terrifying worm hole to jump down. These were pictures from high school – prom, birthdays, last day of school etc. What startled me is how very different the girl in the picture’s face was and it wasn’t because 20 years can sneak up on you. It was my eyes. Those were eyes who hadn’t known loss. I had buried my beloved grandparents, yes – but I hadn’t entered the true hell of losing Thomas. Those eyes hasn’t heard “the fetus did not survive” and those eyes certainly had no reason to think they would never hold their child or watch him grow up. The door to living Motherhood had not slammed shut.
The eyes in my high school pictures were unsure, they felt very insecure but they were happy. Now, in any picture when looking at my eyes, they have a sheen of “despite” over the happy. I still laugh – with gusto, especially around my sister or my girlfriends, I still know what fun is, I feel joy and all those good things – but the layer of “despite” covers my every experience – positive or negative.
I remember the first time I laughed, after I came home from the hospital; I was so guilt stricken my hand unconsciously flew up and covered my mouth. As if that joyful giggle was sullying Thomas memory. It took a lot of time, thinking and therapy and I decided that Thomas’ memory should not be sadness. The loss of Thomas is a daily nightmare I can’t escape, I was not going to let the time we did have together be transformed into something sad.
It was a time of spinach salads (4 a day for the first month – Rob said he would be born with a spinach leaf on his head), it was a time of not eating my nachos – a fate Rob learned when the one of two foods I could digest went missing. It was a time of new things – I was carrying a boy, good lord how does one raise one of those?? It was a time of excitement, changes, the best kind of fear and so much love.
I loved my son the moment the pregnancy test told me he was there. I loved him all night, when I lay awake, waiting to take the pregnancy test, having a very good idea what the results were. I loved him when I told Rob and stunned him into silence. I loved him when my father looked at the framed picture of our pregnancy test and could only splutter ‘what’s this??’ I loved him when things were getting hard. I loved him through the nausea. I loved him when the doctor’s were getting concerned about the two of us. I loved him as I agreed to be placed in a coma.
I loved him so much that for the rest of my days, the loss of him – not of my never ending love – but the sheer missing of him and his life is sprayed over my eyes. It is my organic, biological tattoo.
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