Right Where I Am - 18 months

There's a little girl I see at church every week. She's probably about 18 months. I won't ask. Part of me is burning to know, but I can't know. I just can't know. Will I be like this for the rest of my life? Will I fear asking people how old their children are in fear that they might be the age Andrew should be?

He should be 18 months. Walking, talking, eating, laughing. I can't even get into the things I know I've missed out on and the seasoned mother I would be right now in my life. He should be here and running to the park everyday. But he's not. He'll never be again. It still hurts, but not like it did in the early days of my grief. Those days were very hazy. They seemed to blend and it makes me crazy thinking about that. While I'll always miss my Andrew, I hope to never feel the way I did in those beginning days again.

This grief is different. Surely it's no different in that my son is still gone, but I think it's because I am just plain used to being a baby loss mom. I know how to do it. I'm an expert now. I'm no longer wallowing in my grief, wondering what to do and where to go from there.

B has been a part of this healing, most certainly. I can honestly say that I would feel even more sadness and defeat if I did not have B here, was not pregnant, or had just gone through another subsequent loss. The truth is, B has brought such joy to our lives and given us what we expected to feel and experience with Andrew. He is not Andrew. Let's make no mistake about that. He is no replacement and will never be allowed to be spoken as such. He's most assuredly his own little soul. But he is one thing that I desperately needed 18 months ago-- hope. He's hope in our lives and reassurance that though the sun appeared to fall out of our worlds on that very cold December day, that it does rise again. That there are more blessings to come in life that we need to appreciate in their entirety. One major beauty in having B here is that I have the opportunity to share about Andrew more often. I am constantly being asked if B is my only child-- my first. I always mention Andrew in conversation, and that allows me to keep him with me always.

We are crazy people now. We wake up in cold sweats and yell to one another bizarre phrases at 4 in the morning about whether our son is breathing or not. Whether we saw him move or felt warm air coming from his nostrils.We burst into tears at the sight of him slumped over in his carseat as we're driving somewhere and rush to the backseat to make sure he's still alive. We are the people who now own three baby monitors for one living child.

I still miss Andrew. I still honor him in my life and tell the lady at the sandwich shop who asked if B was my first that he most definitely is not-- that I lost my first son very tragically and he is my second. Still loved 100% the same, but a different child. I knew she meant to discuss if this was my first experience being woken up at all hours of the night and the answer to that is obviously yes. But I wasn't willing to deny my first son the placement and importance he has in my life. He changed everything.

This blog will remain a place to honor Andrew and carry out his legacy, because he could not. B will be a part of this and all things in between and beyond. It's the story of our lives and it all started with our beautiful Andrew. As for last year, I was in a very different place. I had miscarried our first sign of hope just days earlier. And exactly one month after I wrote that post, I found out I was pregnant again, with B. Our hope. He is still providing incredible hope in our lives.

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