Sorry.

Things have been really busy and plus also I suck at blogging.

But I have been doing other worthwhile things with my time. So that makes me feel better.
Anyway. Here ya go. April and May still standing links.

Oh and also this is super cool. And I got to be a part of it. Which makes it even cooler.
And you can buy it now. And I think you should.

xoxo

J

The Should Haves

This is the week that Jocelyn should have been born last year. My due date was never really agreed upon, but I would have had a c-section which means it would have been somewhere around this week.
It should have been.
I should be getting ready to celebrate a first birthday. Instead her first birthday happened four months ago and was celebrated only by a pink balloon in a lonely cemetery and lots of tears.
I think the should haves are one of the worst parts of child loss.
A friend once told me that it's so complex because it's not only the loss of a baby. But it's the loss of potential. The loss of what that child would have been. This loss of what our family would have been.

It's the should haves. And they are evil.

The should haves waste no time getting started. I should be blank weeks pregnant. I should be finishing the nursery. I should be preparing for maternity leave. I should be, should be should be.
I thought (or perhaps hoped) naively, that the should haves would slack off once I passed my due date. Once I should no longer be pregnant, surely the should haves would get better.
Oh, sweets. Wishful thinking.
It quickly became she should be this old. She should be doing that. She should blank. I should blank. We should blank.
Then I thought (or perhaps hoped) naively, that the should haves would slack off once I passed all of the "firsts". Once we made it through all of her should have been first holidays. Once we survived her first should have been birthday. Surely, then the should haves would get better.

But alas, I was wrong. Again. Damn. It is now my belief that should haves are here to stay.
They may change and they may shift. But they are a permanent part of my world. There will always be something that she or we or I should have had or done or experienced.
And my mind will always go there. It will always go to that place.  I will always wonder and wish and hope. I will always think of her in every piece of my life. In every possible capacity.
No matter how much time passes, or how many times I buy a pink balloon or hang an empty stocking.

I will never stop knowing that she should have been.

And that, I guess, is simply how it should be.

Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day.
I want to stay in bed. Under my covers. Where it's safe and warm. Something about being in bed seems so protective. Like my heart can't ache quite as much as long as I'm snuggled in my bed.
I know my precious Jude is here. And I'm so grateful for him. But I can't NOT notice her absence. The void in my life. In our family. It's always there. Even in times of (almost) joy, in times of happiness - it's there. And she's not. And it fucking hurts.
So tomorrow, like so many of you, I will celebrate my mom and I will be celebrated. I will smile. And maybe laugh. But she will be missing. And my heart will hurt and my chest will ache. And my mind will consistently wander to our precious daughter, our missing piece.

Dear Jocelyn

June somethingtowardstheend, 2012


Dear Jocelyn,

So much has happened lately. It's too much to keep up with even. I feel like so much of your story is missing.
So I'm going to just recap the last couple of weeks for you.

We did a lot in preparation for your burial. We chose a stone to mark your "grave". I fucking hate that word. I know you aren't there. I considerate really more of a memorial.
We went the day before your service to finalize the plans. I took the box that contained your ashes. I held it tightly against my chest as we rode from the funeral home to the cemetery. When we arrived, I laid the box, your box, gently in the burial vault. I tucked a letter from your Aunt Liz on one side and a letter from me and Daddy on the other. I put a piece of Katie's blanket in there. (A gift from your Aunt Susan from the blanket set that Katie was buried with.)
A picture from your Aunt Mal of her and Jude (she wrote you a sweet message on the back) and  a pair of tiny camo socks. I included Jude's blue crinkle elephant, his favorite toy from when he was a baby. It would have surely been among your first round of inherited toys. Now it sleeps with you. A small silver cross from your Maw Maw and Paw Paw.
And then I laid a piece of Daddy's baby blanket (affectionately known in our house as "Blue Blankie") gently over the top of the box.
Then I took the glue and traced along the seal of the vault. And I closed it tightly. Securely.
I took care of you. I couldn't feed you. Or rock you. Or bathe you. But I could do this. And so I did.
I cried, but calmly so. It felt oddly right. A mother, simply caring for her new daughter.

June 16, 2012

We buried your box and vault that we filled with words and items of love. We had a small and beautiful service for you. Your Great Aunt Linda led the service. She cried fearlessly. And she smiled sincerely. And it was perfect.
You are so loved. I know I've said it a million times already, but I just want you to know.
We love you. Always have. Always will.

June 24, 2012

We went to the beach this weekend. I thought of you every second. I was afraid to leave town at first, because I didn't want to miss a day of visiting the cemetery. (I sent someone very special in my place.)
I was scared that being so far from home. Afraid that I wouldn't feel you there. I'm so afraid to not feel you.
I was told that you'd be present with me. That I just had to keep my eyes open and look. That I would see you, feel you.
And I did. And you were there. You were in the waves, in the sunrise, even in the board game laughter. You were with me. You are with me. I'm sorry I forget that sometimes.

Easter

We're missing an Easter basket today. One that should be filled with teething toys and yogurt melts. And undoubtedly something soft and pink. A little stuffed bunny or duck maybe. Or a bath toy made for baby giggles and momma splashing.
A very first Easter basket filled with love and excitement.


Happy Easter, Joce. Missing you this morning.