Pictures
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We’re already getting Christmas cards in the mail. Countless photos of smiling families with healthy, alive children. I’ve stopped opening them. We never got a photo of the four of us for a Christmas card.
Read More( ( ( ((Ren)) ) ) )
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Child(ren). Child(ren)? No, no (ren). No Ren. Just the one child and no (ren). Just my son M and no Ren. I can’t figure out what I’m checking a box for. I authorize payment for my child but not for my Ren. He’s not here. He died. That means his body does not work anymore. I still can’t make sense of it. What a strange combination of symbols and letters. My Ren, my sweet boy, just an echo between parentheses.
More family calculus
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I don’t want to imagine a world that he isn’t part of – not at all – but there is no world that they both are alive in, and no way my mind can accommodate a version of that world, even imaginary. So, if I imagine her here, I imagine him not. And it’s impossible not to wonder at times like these. Mundane, silly times where I’m frustrated that we can’t agree and my mind slips off into that world-that-might-have-been. And more serious times, birthdays, milestones, all the rest. What would it have been like if she were here? Then he wouldn’t be.
Read MoreMuddling through
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I used to think I was a good parent to a grieving child. We talked about sadness and anger, we played it out, we drew and sang and stomped when we needed to. And then - we stopped. I still say her name. I tell stories that start, “When I was pregnant with Anja….” But it’s not the same as it was when they were little and full of wonder about everything, including death.
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Bittersweet
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I decorate your nursery with the utmost care—the perfect crib, the daintiest florals. Yet a dream lingers, smoky and yearning, blooming between the flowers at my fingertips: blue walls instead of pink, sporty decals in animal shapes. Months of planning: the registry, the baby shower. The first one is so special, he deserves a big audience.
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