The day in and day out just doesn't leave much time for writing now a days.
Today I pulled Truman's ashes off the shelf and held him for a while.
He has been around more lately in a sense that I cant quite articulate. Or maybe my grief has just been heavier lately. It's hard to say.
His name has been popping up more than usual from outside sources. And it's not a common name so it when I hear it It really is like finding a rare gem.
As Remy grows I feel like I get to see pieces of Truman. They are completely different. But here i am getting to know his little brother. An honor that Truman never got. Maybe they would have had the same laugh or the same mannerisms. I like to think so.
So i day dream about him. Sit in wonder and in missing while my heart is full of pride and gratitude that i have been blessed with both of these children.
I yearn to smell sunscreen on his skin. To see him run through the back yard. To hold his hand. To nuzzle into his neck. To feel his soft blonde hair one more time. To feel is small hands grab at my skin. To get the chances that are long gone. But most of all, it's the moments when I'm comforting Remington when he has fallen and hurt or is just upset, that i'm cradling him and making it better that my heart screams for Truman. I wish so much that I could have been that comfort for him.
That I could have picked up his broken body, kissed his boo-boos and made everything all better.
and i just couldn't.
and i didn't.
not until he lied there dying. and after he was dead and gone.
His suffering was so completely unfair.
There are still many triggers.
The lady across the street (we moved) had her son a month before I had Truman. We were in the same NICU at the same time. Now she is my neighbor and I see her son all the time. It's not her son that is the trigger. In that situation it's her. She constantly talks about how we "are the same family" in her eyes and how she views my family and her family as "the same." And then rehashes all of her NICU experiences. I understand that I am probably a comfort to her. Because I was in the NICU too. So i get it. But part of me, the bitch part of me, wants to say "Your son is in the other room and it's 2.5 years later and you are taking about this non-stop to a lady whose son didn't make it out." Traumatizing as the NICU is, I don't want to hear about how hard it is for those who survived and are living a pretty normal life as far as NICU graduates go. Go figure she is a psychology major who doesn't pick up on my distressed facial expressions. I swear it's ironically always the social workers and psych majors who are the most oblivious to grief.
My father knows a couple who just had a 24 weeker. She is doing great. You would think that it would make me feel good, which logically it does. But deep down it breaks me that so many babies that are so much earlier and sicker than Truman that live and grow and make it. I just don't understand and i never will - why my baby needed to die. I will never have those answers. and these NICU stories bring back some strong PTSD symptoms sometimes. I'm never going to get over what happened there. In SF, 2.5 years ago. For as long as I live, my entire life will be defined by that July and August. People may not like that I say that. But it's the truth. Nothing in my life compares. It's everything before that and everything after.
So many people walk away from these hardships stronger. and the truth is, i have suffered a lot through out my life and usually, in other cases, i have walked away stronger. But not this time. Losing Truman truly broke me as a person.
I still haven't found my new normal. and while many of the 2011 loss parents seem to be letting go and doing well in their new normal... it almost makes me panic that i am so far behind schedule. I have some new hobbies. But i am blander. Sadder. Less interesting. Less enthusiastic. Less friendly. Less of everything. Still. I look in the mirror and all I see is grief in my face. The vibrant Laura is gone. Long gone. Died August 4th, 2011 the day my first drew his last breath.
As much as i want to live life to the fullest and live enough for the both of us- I am just so tired still. I am still stuck in the fog. and I am really starting to wonder if other loss parents are in the fog still? Or if their fog is their new normal?
I don't know.
My grief has come to a point where i am no longer at a loss for words. I am no longer silent again. I am now reflective. I am now able and ready to look back and try to make sense of all of this. To try to attempt to fix my broken self.
I work hard every day of my life trying to make Remy's childhood a magical and happy one. But I think i need to get my muchness back in order to really live a normal life. and i wonder if it will ever come.
Truman has a memorial garden that I work on a lot. I have been searching for years for a lion statue to add to the garden. The missing piece to showcase his space in my world now a days. I can not find the right one. nothing seems good enough. nothing seems right. and as I search and search I think about my poor boy. The one who never ever got what he truly deserved. and i can never give it to him. and the thought instantly brings tears to my eyes. How could someone so innocent and sweet have their short life so horrible and hard?
