Hello
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he’s there…hidden in plain sight
Read MoreSurfacing
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When the wave crashes, I’m assaulted with memories—images of the hospital, my little boy covered in wires and unmoving, giving the funeral director the outfit we wanted him to be cremated in. As the wave is crashing down, it seems unlikely that I’ll ever be able to surface again, with the water pounding down on my head.
Read MoreThe journal
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I sat with it on my lap, my hands resting on the cover, my eyes closed. My throat closed up and I felt tears sting my eyes, all from touching it. This journal has become a visceral talisman of all those emotions that are too big for me to hold inside of myself. So they live here. Safely tucked away, but still with me.
Read MoreReflections on fear in a pandemic
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I will continue to avoid the bad news as much as possible, enjoy the extra time with my little family as best I can, and keep trying to remember how to breathe. Unlike losing my son, there are a lot of people feeling the same sadness and fear right now. And for those of us who share losing a child, we share the same post-traumatic stress that this worldwide fear inspires.
Read MorePeripheral
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In my peripheral vision, I can sometimes see a fuzzy outline. A silhouette of a chubby baby that should be here too. It’s easy to become distracted by that ghost. I try not to get too lost in that because I know that he’s just in my head and there are so many other directions that I’m pulled towards. But sometimes it’s nice to have a ghost for company when I’m going through the motions.
Read MoreTransported
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The last night I am with him, we crowd onto his narrow hospital bed. I spend hours touching and memorizing his face, his hands, his toes. We relish these memories, as impossible as they are. They are the only connection between our babies and us, their parents—a nightmare and a life preserver all at the same time.
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