May 30, 2011

right where I am [part 2]

No-No: 1 yr, 8 mos

Ah, my son. My son.

There is a certain little boy who frequently visits the store where I work, with his mother and grandmother. He is roughly the same age as Noah would be, had he lived. He is also the same color: coffee with cream. Delicious. Gorgeous. Just what I always wanted. A year ago, looking at him made my chest cave in. (One day I literally had to hide, crouching behind my cash register, choking on dry sobs.)

He's toddling now. I saw him last week, holding on to his mama's finger and grinning like crazy over his latest accomplishment. I wanted to scoop him up and kiss him all over his sweet face. I wanted him to be mine. But he's not. He's not my Noah.

No one else could ever be my Noah. My special boy.

I would give anything to have my baby back. To look into his eyes, and see the whole of my universe suspended there. To hear his stories, told in his own unique voice. To feel the solid weight of him in my arms. To watch him grow. It is a fool's dream. I know that nothing I could ever give would suffice. I understand that I am helpless and -- unexpectedly, mysteriously -- my helplessness doesn't make me angry anymore. Every day, I forgive myself a little more for being unable to save him. The self-hatred that had hardened like a lump of obsidian in my ribcage is slowly chipping away.

I don't know about tomorrow, or the day after that, but this is where I am right now. Right now I can say, with a delicate confidence: It is so. It is sad. It is beautiful. It is terrible. It is long. It is the most painful thing that I have ever had to deal with -- and I have dealt with a lot. I am a champion. I am a mother. I am afraid. I hurt. I lose. I win.

It is simple. It is hard. It is so... it is so... it is so.

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  1. As always, VK, your writing chills me to the bones (in a good way). You just make sense of things...or so you write that way that makes me relate to you and your situation. Thank you for your thoughts and your story. Your children will always be remembered. Sending hugs your way.

  2. Wow, another breathtaking, extraordinary post. Thank you for taking the time to write about right where you are for both Noah and Lissie. Two separate places. Sending you love. xo

  3. Thank you again for loving your kids with such passion. Grief beyond grief beyond grief emanates from my soul right now, for my own situation. And tears stay inside way to much with me. So thank you for helping more tears fall.


  4. You've been through so much. Too much.
    Thanks for addressing this writing prompt again. I'm so sorry you have more reason than one to write.
    Missing your son Noah with you.

  5. Oh God. I read Lissie's post, and now, reading Noah's... I'm just so sorry. So, so sorry.

    Sending love, remembering your beautiful boy x

  6. This post is so beautiful, as was your post about Lissie. I'm a bit in awe of how beautifully you write about both your children. The love shines through.

    I wish they were both with you.

  7. Another beautiful post.

    Seeing that little boy in the store, so close in age and similar in appearance to your own dear Noah, must be so difficult. But you're right, nobody else could ever be him.

    The last paragraph gave me chills. So true.

  8. As Sally says, I am sorry you have reason to write. I am sorry you have had reason to contribute twice.

    Your words are haunting and gorgeous and the strong, strong love you have for your children shines through them.