Quinn is now 7 weeks old, and while it's been an amazing 7 weeks, it's also been hard. It always amazes me how easily my heart opens up and completely wraps up each new child I have, and Quinn is no exception to that. I adore the newborn stage with all its baby cuddles and sweet baby noises and baby scents and the way he grasps my finger with his tiny hand, but it's also so hard with the late night feedings and crying when you can't figure out what's wrong. For a few days, we thought Quinn had colic, and I literally thought I was going to lose my mind. However, he has been in bed by 10 and sleeping for 6 hour stretches for the past 4 nights, so I'm praying this is a permanent routine for him.
But it's been hard for other reasons. I knew it wouldn't happen, but a minuscule part of me secretly hoped Quinn's birth would take away my heartache from losing Levi. It didn't happen, and it wasn't fair of me to expect that of Quinn. No other child can ever fill the Levi shaped hole in my heart. I'm constantly wondering what life with 3 boys would be like, and I really need to stop doing that to myself, as it tends to take a small part of the joy out of moments with my boys.
I deal with guilt, too. After losing Levi, I wanted nothing more than to bring home a baby, and now that I have a baby I should love absolutely every moment with him, but I find sleep deprevation takes my patience with it, and I don't love the crying for hours at a time or the fact that Quinn still hasn't smiled or the late nights. So I feel guilty because I should cherish every single one of these moments for Levi's sake.
Anyway, I ran across the following writing on a fellow blogger's blog and felt it fit.
MY NEW “NORMAL”
Author Unknown
Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realize someone important is missing from all the important events in your family’s life.
Normal for me is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays, Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, Valentine’s Day, July 4th and Easter.
Normal is reliving that day continuously through your eyes and mind.
Normal is every happy event in my life always being backed up with sadness lurking close behind, because of the hole in my heart.
Normal is staring at every baby who looks like she is my baby’s age. And then thinking of the age she would be now and not being able to imagine it. Then wondering why it is even important to imagine it, because it will never happen.
Normal is telling the story of your child’s death as if it were an everyday, commonplace activity, and then seeing the horror in someone’s eyes at how awful it sounds. And yet realizing it has become a part of my “normal”.
Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor your child’s memory and her birthday and survive these days.
Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of something special that my baby would have loved, but how she is not here to enjoy it.
Normal is having some people afraid to mention my baby.
Normal is making sure that others remember her.
Normal is after the funeral is over everyone else goes on with their lives, but we continue to grieve our loss forever.
Normal is weeks, months, and years after the initial shock, the grieving gets worse sometimes, not better.
Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to this loss, unless they too have lost a child. NOTHING. Even if your child is in the remotest part of the earth away from you – it doesn’t compare. Losing a parent is horrible, but having to bury your own child is unnatural.
Normal is trying not to cry all day, because I know my mental health depends on it.
Normal is realizing I do cry everyday.
Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone, but someone stricken with grief over the loss of your child.
Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother, talking and crying together over our children and our new lives.
Normal is not listening to people make excuses for God. “God may have done this because…” I love God, I know that my baby is in heaven, but hearing people trying to think up excuses as to why babies were taken from this earth is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to this grieving mother.
Normal is wondering this time whether you are going to say you have three children or two, because you will never see this person again and it is not worth explaining that my baby is in heaven. And yet when you say you have two children to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as if you have betrayed your baby.
Normal is knowing I will never get over this loss, in a day or a million years.
And last of all, Normal is hiding all the things that have become “normal” for you to feel, so that everyone around you will think that you are “normal”.
2 comments:
I've read that before but every time I do, I realise how true it is.
And I completely understand the tension between grieving and mothering a rainbow baby. And I recognise the (wrong) guilt that comes when we don't love every single minute. But, having a newborn is hard (although delicious) and having a newborn when grieving is hard and we need to cut ourselves some slack.
I'm glad Quinn is sleeping 6 hours at a stretch. I hope it is a permanent - I'd love Toby to sleep 6 hours at a stretch.
this is SO familiar! my daughter expressed the same thing - exact words almost. 3 years later, with a beautiful active 1 yr old little boy, she often wonders what her 3 yr old daughter would be like. she still sees little girls and wonders - and misses having a little girl. it doesn't mean she loves her baby less - but you are right, there will always be a hole where levi should be. you won't feel your family is complete until you are all together in heaven. and that's okay. and i once told her not to feel guilty or feel like people will think she is "unappreciative" of having a healthy LIVE baby if she complains about typical new baby irritations. that, too, is normal. and okay. she always says she has 3 boys - 2 on earth and one in heaven. most of her friends in the same situation do the same. kind of like remembering her and including her because she IS part of their family - as levi is of yours. i can tell you that after 12 months she still wonders what sydney would be like - but she also is even more appreciative and feels more blessed because of little henry. you will, too. i hope your christmas is a blessed family time for you. hang a little ornament for levi on the tree!
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