Much of the time is surreal. Did I dream Elena's entire existence? She seems so long ago. It is hard to grasp the words to explain. It is sometimes hard to grasp her. She is so glossed over, so ignored by most. I think many people hope I will forget her, thinking it would be easier for me to just close that chapter and never look back so that I do not have to feel the pain (so they do not have to see the pain). Sometimes I wonder, "Have I gone mad?" Perhaps my mind just made it all up. I stare at the memory display in my family room...the diminutive prints of her hands and feet, the certificate of her baptism, the photograph of my beautiful, tiny, living daughter. No, she really did exist. She truly was here. I am not hallucinating.
I look at the handkerchief with her name and birthday embroidered on it. She would be two years old now. I imagine she would have the chubby, rosy cheeks of a busy toddler, ready for a quick snuggle before continuing the hard work of a baby's play. I touch the hanky with its pink embroidery, such an inadequate substitute for stroking those rosy cheeks. I treasure it nonetheless.
And then there are the moments of soul-stabbing clarity. I was able to sneak a nap with my Rainbow this afternoon. I awoke a few minutes before him and cherished a quiet moment staring at his perfect face before it came crashing down on me. My baby died. She's really gone. The instant it hit me made me feel like someone was standing on my chest. I thought I would suffocate right then and there. The weight of her absence was crushing, the pain as intense as if I was back in the hospital room watching my child die. It hurt - physical pain accompanying the heartbreak, an ache that pierces all the way to the soul.
Oh, Elena, I miss you so very much my sweet baby girl! I love you.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Friday, August 9, 2013
After Elena
A couple of months ago, my husband traveled to Italy for his employer. Our two living children and I were able to join him and to stay an extra week for a family vacation. My now 4 year old (who was still 3 at the time) has an amazing memory and loves to talk. Since returning from Italy, it seems as if every story he tells and every memory he shares is concluded with either "that was before Italy" or "that was after Italy." It's a bit funny to me that he references time in such a manner. Everything is either before or after one big event, that trip to Italy (not his birthday or being a ring bearer in a cousin's wedding or the birth of his little brother, but our trip to Italy). Time as he sees it is divided into two distinct eras: B.I. and A.I. (Before Italy and After Italy), and it is important to note the distinction, to reference when it happened in relation to Italy.
Then I realized that I measure time in a similar way (though I don't vocalize it the way that he does). My "Italy" is Elena. She is the "big event" by which time is measured in my mind. Mentally trying to recall to myself, "When was such and so?" is most often answered by either "that was before Elena" or "that was after Elena." To some extent, that is true for all of my children (that was before kids, that was after the baby was born, that was between the oldest and Elena, that was between Elena and the baby), but it seems that Elena is the most frequent reference point. (I used to measure time by my age, that was when I was 13 or 5 or 22.) I guess it makes some sense, seeing as how I feel like a completely different person now, After Elena, than I was then, Before Elena. The death of my daughter is one of the most defining moments of my life (if not THE most). And so it has become my significant reference in measuring time, the division point between the two major eras in my life. I envision one of those timelines kids make for school projects, showing their life as a horizontal line with hand-drawn circles colored with crayons or markers along the line showing significant events. Elena is my big dot on my line, and instead of thinking in terms of B.I. and A.I. as my son does, I use B.E. and A.E. She really did change everything, even how I measure time.
I miss you, Baby Girl, and I love you so much! <3 p="">
Then I realized that I measure time in a similar way (though I don't vocalize it the way that he does). My "Italy" is Elena. She is the "big event" by which time is measured in my mind. Mentally trying to recall to myself, "When was such and so?" is most often answered by either "that was before Elena" or "that was after Elena." To some extent, that is true for all of my children (that was before kids, that was after the baby was born, that was between the oldest and Elena, that was between Elena and the baby), but it seems that Elena is the most frequent reference point. (I used to measure time by my age, that was when I was 13 or 5 or 22.) I guess it makes some sense, seeing as how I feel like a completely different person now, After Elena, than I was then, Before Elena. The death of my daughter is one of the most defining moments of my life (if not THE most). And so it has become my significant reference in measuring time, the division point between the two major eras in my life. I envision one of those timelines kids make for school projects, showing their life as a horizontal line with hand-drawn circles colored with crayons or markers along the line showing significant events. Elena is my big dot on my line, and instead of thinking in terms of B.I. and A.I. as my son does, I use B.E. and A.E. She really did change everything, even how I measure time.
I miss you, Baby Girl, and I love you so much! <3 p="">
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