I’m not sure when over the three-day weekend I decided to turn off my brain. But two things on Monday made it clear I was not operating on all cylinders — which, really, it’s fine, that’s what three-day weekends are for. But it’s kept me off balance for the better part of the last 24 hours.
The second brain cramp was fairly innocuous. When we (the girls, Soul Sista, and I) headed down to the SouthSide Works to hang with ClumberKim and her daughter, I didn’t really plan for water activities. The girls got soaked running around and through the fountain. I didn’t have swimmy diapers for Bun, which is how she ended up sans pants and diapers for a time (her dress covered her bits up, don’t worry), or dry clothes for either Monkey or Bun. I didn’t think too much of it until I realized that going to lunch with Soul Sista would be nice (she was in town, on her way to Virginia).
So I sent Soul Sista on a search of the surrounding stores. Only REI had any kids clothes. At the time that SS reported this to me, I was waiting for Kim to pull ’round to my car. One of the reasons we had decided to meet up yesterday was because she had a box of clothes for my kids.
While I was debating on whether or not to spend $14.99 each on a couple of dry shirts for my girls, someone was giving me free clothes.
Kinda hurts your head, doesn’t it?
Once SS pointed out the painfully obvious, I picked out a couple of passable outfits from the box and got the girls changed. Bun was wearing clothes two sizes too big, but at least everyone was dry.
The first brain cramp was, to me, more troubling. I’m still wrapping my head around it in a way. DearDR and I are still talking about trying for one more child. We’d like to have another boy (that *another* is important here). Kim has a book about choosing a baby’s sex, and I think I’m going to borrow it & give it a read (I know, I know, there are no guarantees; still, it can’t hurt). DearDR and I will probably make a decision after that — we are leaning toward trying again, which probably only proves what masochists we are. We just haven’t… you know, gone for it.
In passing, I mentioned that Dr. Bro has four boys. Kim responded that in some cases, men can only make one kind of baby or the other. I nodded toward the girls wondering if we could make a boy.
Kim said, “What about Gabriel?”
Uh, yeah, RPM, what about Gabriel?
I forgot — utterly, fleetingly — about my boy, my lost child.
I am not going to beat myself up about it; you don’t have to worry about any public flogging here. The simple fact of the matter is that come June 8 this year, we are six years out. The girls are my every day, my present. When DearDR and I talk about having another baby, we talk about another boy.
I will visit his grave again this year, with white flowers and with hope for the future. I am still grieving; it has become such, though, that… that I forget. He slips out of my head.
Never out of my heart, as when I realize that a moment has happened where he disappeared from my thoughts: the heart cramps, then thumps a little harder. “How could you?” the heart asks. And the brain says, “It’s not as hard as I thought it would be.” But, of course, here I am a day later, thinking about him, and forgetting about him.
Ironically, I have been spending time over here, feeling like a grizzled veteran. I read of parents who have lost more than one baby; I read about parents who have recently lost babies; I marvel and I remember; I share some of my stories in the comments. If I could say to them anything it would be: This is what healing looks like. At least for me.