Incredible post from Glow in the Woods - Magic

Mrs. Spit, Gabriel's Mom, wrote this amazing post over at Glow in the Woods - http://www.glowinthewoods.com/home/2012/4/17/see-magic.html
I've copied and pasted it below, just in case anyone has trouble going over to the original. And because it's something that I know I will want to read time and time again.

I am sitting on my front porch with a cup of coffee, watching the sun set on the brick building in front of me. The sun behind me, and the world is a beautiful place, filled with red and yellow and gold. My chair is comfortable, my coffee is good. The dogs are sniffling around the front yard. I can hear the sounds of children, in those last few moments before the call to come in for the night will go around the neighbourhood. It was a busy week of travel and meetings, it was a busy Saturday of errands and household things, and I have this brief time – with nothing but to sit and enjoy, watch the changing of the light.


They call this the magic hour.

What is grief, but a form of magic, I ask you? What is the terror and the pain and the horror that I found myself in four years ago, but a form of magic, a spell, an incantation that was thrown over me? It is easy to imagine the vile and loathsome creature that took my son away from me – it is easy to think of a cave, a foul smell and the guttural words of a spell. That seems as good and as reasonable an explanation of any about why tragedy struck me, struck mine, struck you and struck yours.

Magic, all around us. Old order magic with no waiving of hands, muttering of incantations. Magic, hiding in plain view. Magic that is good and magic that is so terribly evil it is impossible to behold. Magic held into balance, just barely.

And it seems a reasonable explanation that the magic of that spell would slowly wear off, that I would be able to find my way in the world. I look the same as I did back then, more or less, I walk and talk but I am utterly changed. See? Magic.

I believe in goodness and mercy, all the days of my life, in spite of what happened. Perhaps I believe more strongly now. See? Magic.

And on my front porch, watching the liquid line of gold fall towards the ground, I can be captivated by sudden and ephemeral beauty. See? Magic.

Grief then a form of magic. It seems appropriate to think that – the best explanation. So much of our world seems fragile, improbable. The quickness of the life and death, the peace of a Saturday night sunset. The curve of my son’s ear, the way his finger was crooked just like mine. See? Magic.

And this. The world I live in now. This wholeness and this peace that I find has come over me. My contentedness and my delight in beauty. I wouldn’t have believed it possible. See? Magic.

Flashbacks

We had a good day today. A really good day. I've written more about it on my other blog.

I am 20 weeks and 3 days pregnant with my rainbow baby. That makes tonight the eve of the day we found out that Jacob had died. It hit me full force when I was standing in the garden tonight before going to church. I was telling Jacob that this baby will never replace him, that we love them equally. I stared at the spot where he is buried and I suddenly had a flashback to being at Dr. A's office and her not being able to find his heartbeat and the sinking feeling I had the longer she tried, then the feeling when she stopped. It was terrible.

I got home, told Ted what happened there and his face fell and I knew he was feeling the same pain.

I got in the shower and had a flashback to him being born and Dr. A passing him to me. For a few minutes, the pain was as bad as it was that day.

As I was writing this, I started talking to Ted about it again and the tears came, streaming down my face and if I had let it happen, I would have been sobbing. We ended up standing in the living room hugging for a few minutes.

As painful as it was reliving those times and feeling the pain again, I was glad to. I'm glad I still feel it so deeply. 

I wonder.....how have we survived losing him?

Jacob

22 months

I don't have much to say that I haven't said before, but I couldn't let a monthly anniversary pass without writing something.

We drove by the garden last night after going to a movie and parked across the road from it. There were lights all around it and it always makes us feel better that it isn't dark in there at night.

We sat for awhile and I felt the sadness getting stronger and stronger and told Ted that I wanted to leave, that I was getting really sad and he said he was too.

I am at about the same stage in my current pregnancy that I was when Jacob died, although I didn't know he had died for another week. It's a scary week for me, I feel reassured with every kick that I feel from this baby, but then worry when I haven't felt anything for an hour or longer. I didn't need anything to magnify what a loss it was to lose Jacob, but it certainly feels more acute right now than it has in a little while.

It doesn't really matter how much time passes. Our boy isn't in our arms and that will always hurt.

Re-post from Small Bird Studios - When you lose a baby

Wonderful piece by Fran over at small bird studios.  If you have not read this, please do.  It is amazing!

When you lose a baby...

You don’t know what to expect.

People surround you. For a couple of weeks. Making sure you are not going to kill yourself, refuse to get out of bed, or start rocking a baby doll like the crazy lady they heard about from a friend.

You get lots of sympathy cards, clearly written and designed to be sent to console a daughter losing her father. Not the other way around.

You get free baby formula in the mail. For months and months and months.

And free baby magazines. And free baby coupons.

You secretly envy every pregnant woman. But not without a tinge of guilt, because you know all too well that she might be one in four- expecting her rainbow child.

It seems like the whole world is expecting a baby.

You have baby stuff around your home. Because you never imagined you wouldn’t need it.

You feel jarred. In the grocery store. At a birthday party. At the dinner table. At Christmas. Driving.

The baby you never knew, but lost changes every part of your life. Every. single. part.

Forever.

You see baby clothes and it brings tears to your eyes.

You get sick and tired of crying. You never knew it was possible to cry this much.

You find yourself angry at God. Angry at yourself. Just angry.

You sware you can feel them kick but they’re gone. They call them phantom kicks. I call them painful, all kinds of painful. But sweet too.

You know, or you have a strong feeling of knowing what your child would have looked like, and been like. You see a child in the store, or on the street. Their hair color, dimples, smile, their personality and suddenly you are reminded of your child. You miss your child even more, if that’s even possible.

Your Babies R’ Us Registry is still active. There is no delete button on their site. The babies r’ us people don’t make a dime on people like us. Why bother right? You have to call them, plead with them to remove your freaking’ registry, because there will be no baby shower. There is an awkward silence. There is sadness. There will be no baby.

You get hospital bills about 3-4 months after you buried your child. You have to pay for the baby you delivered but didn’t bring home.

You find that moment of happiness in life for the first time, but the guilt swallows it up almost immediately.

You remember the size of the casket. The size of the plot. The face of the funeral director. The expression of those that attended the funeral. The feeling of raw pain, like your chest has literally been ripped open.

Somehow you convince yourself that you deserve happiness. Because you really do. But in the happiest, purest moment, there is still that hole that only they were meant to fill.

People compare your pain to their own pain. The loss of their grandmother, husband, their failed marriage, rebellious teenagers. Somehow this comparing leaves you stranded. If they can compare their pain of a situation to the loss of your BABY, they will likely never get it. Babies are not supposed to die. End of story.

You lost a dream. And it almost feels like you imagined their entire existence up. Their name becomes a distant memory on the lips of others.

There is awkwardness when you talk about your child in a crowd. No one knows whether to cry, walk away or pretend you never brought him or her up.

You lose friends. You find new ones.

You can’t believe that women have actually survived this and you never knew about it. Not really, anyway.

You would do anything for another minute with your child.

You cry when others bring up your child, not so much because it hurts but more so because it such a precious and rare gift.

You long for the rewind button, even after many many instances of acceptance.

You want to know what went wrong, and why…

You find a new appreciation for moments in life that make you laugh… you laugh harder and love stronger.

You know that you can die bitter, or die thankful. There is no in between.

You never ever, EVER get over your child. The one you hoped for, prayed for, carried and loved for the weeks and months they were with you.

You learn to live with the pain.

21 months

The other day at work, Ted was listening to music and the Irie version of Tears in Heaven (he calls it Jacob's song) came on. He thought he would be ok listening to it, but tears filled his eyes quickly. He told me about it that night and we talked about how it just never goes away. We can go along through the days feeling ok. Thinking about him and missing him, but doing ok. Then something like a song or a smell or just seeing something in a certain way brings us back and the pain is fresh again.

21 months is such a long time and it's still hard to believe that it's been so long since we held our baby boy.

I've been by the garden three times in the past week. I talk to him and sometimes I just sit there and listen to the sounds of the birds and the people and the traffic and the wind and think that this is what his body is surrounded by all the time. I know that he isn't really there, but it's the last place that we held him, even if it was his ashes.

I had a hard time sleeping a few nights ago and moved to the couch so I wouldn't keep Ted awake. I ended up crying over something silly and it quickly turned to crying for Jacob, missing him and thinking of what life would be like if he had lived. It brought me back to the days and nights of crying in the early days, of feeling just horrible emotionally all the time.

Today,, 21 months after Jacob was born, we went to my OB's office for our second appointment with her for this pregnancy. As we sat waiting to see her, I thought of what was happening 21 months ago at the same time. Jacob has just been born and we were holding him, loving him and memorizing him because we knew we wouldn't get to keep him for very long. She stood at the counter for awhile writing a note and I stared at her face, thinking back. Tonight we stopped by the garden and stood silently for a few minutes, both of us talking to Jacob in our heads. Ted said how it is just so sad.

We miss him.

This and that

Last week Laurie called me because she wanted to tell me what Ben did. They were playing a game where Ben would "write" down messages on a piece of paper and show them to Laurie. Laurie asked who they were to/from and he would say "Mom, Dad and Danny" most of the time. Then they went through the routine again and she asked him the same question and he said "Mom, Dad, Danny and Jacob". Oh, it made me smile. She said that she hasn't talked about Jacob in awhile to Ben, or near Ben and asked if I did. I haven't spoken about Jacob to Ben in a few months. Neither has Ben. And yet Jacob popped into Ben's thoughts. I'm getting emotional just writing this out. Ben was almost 2 when Jacob was born and he never saw him, other than a few of Jacob's pictures (and I think he has only seen his ultrasound pictures), yet Ben somehow understands that Jacob is someone close to him. I've told him Jacob is his cousin, but Ben, who is 3.5 now, was 2 when we talked about Jacob and his relationship to Ben the most. I love it.

Ted and I went to a Raptor's game on Sunday and we had a good time. And I didn't fake having a good time, which is such a nice feeling. I look back to where I was a year ago and can't believe the difference in me. It definitely helps that I'm pregnant with Boh, but still.

At the game, we saw lots of families. A few rows behind us, there was a white Mom, a black Dad and 2 little boys, about 2 and 4 years old. I looked at those boys from time to time and thought of Jacob. He would be 16 months old right now. If he had lived, and assuming that Boh lives,Ted and I could have had 2 kids we would have taken to a game in a few years, like them.

During some downtime in the game, a bunch of approximately 10 year olds came on the court and danced. There was a boy, probably with one white and one black parent, who was really good. Ted and I watched him in particular and Ted said "There's Jacob". He does that sometimes when we see boys that Jacob might have looked like. I like it when he does it. This time my eyes filled with tears, which I managed to hide from Ted because I don't want him to stop doing it.

We will never stop wondering what could have been.

20 months

I saw this poem on a friends blog today and it describes how I feel really well. 20 months without him, only 4 months short of 2 whole years. It's still hard to believe sometimes. I think about him every day. Every day I see or hear something that reminds me of him.

I heard your voice in the wind today

and I turned to see your face;

The warmth of the wind caressed me

as I stood silently in place.

I felt your touch in the sun today

as its warmth filled the sky;

I closed my eyes for your embrace

and my spirit soared high.

I saw your eyes in the window pane

as I watched the falling rain;

It seemed as each raindrop fell

it quietly said your name.

I held you close in my heart today

it made me feel complete;

You may have died…but you are not gone

you will always be a part of me.

As long as the sun shines…

the wind blows…

the rain falls…

You will live on inside of me forever

for that is all my heart knows.

(unknown)

I love you baby boy. I'm always missing you.