I wrote this last November. Every word of it I could have written today. Sometimes I remember a post, I remember the night I wrote it, I remember the tears that fell, endlessly, as I typed. I remember how empty I felt after expressing myself, exhausted, deflated, but somehow better.
I remember this post. Vividly. Tonight, I ache. Always, I miss.
My words are failing me.
Inside, my heart is broken, my arms are empty, my mind races with thoughts of sadness, disbelief and strangely, gratitude. My grief is appropriate, but is so often inappropriate. I ran into an old friend last week and she asked about my kids and their grade levels and she realized that both of them would be in school next year all day long, while I worked from home. She laughed and applauded and said “you must be so excited to have the house to yourself!”
I nodded politely and said “well… I guess.”
What would have happened if I had said “actually, IT SUCKS.”
Can you imagine? But, OF COURSE, I didn’t. I nodded. Just like I’m supposed to do.
I have so many emotions, deep, dark, explosive emotions inside of me but that’s where they are staying, I can’t articulate my thoughts and feelings and I’m becoming so frustrated with my silence and my inability to communicate, I need to try.
because I miss.
I miss so much of these boys that we love so much. I miss my life before grief.
I want. so badly to be rocking them to sleep right now. to kiss their precious lips. to watch them starting to smile and looking up at their older sister and brother, who, undoubtedly, would adore them.
I need. I need to feel not so alone. I need to be able to communicate with you, with myself, with my husband, with someone. But I can’t. Perhaps a call to my therapist is in order.
I wonder. Where they are right now. Are they in heaven watching down on us? CAN THEY FEEL HOW MUCH WE LOVE THEM? Do they know what we would do to hold them once again? Do they miss us? Are they okay? If they are in heaven, do they call me “mommy?” WILL I EVER SEE THEM AGAIN?
Oh my God, please let us see them again.
I wonder. What went wrong? Why did this happen? Why us? But also, why not us?
I dream. Of their skin. of their little fingers, their ears, their eyes and their toes. Their smell, their sounds, their eyelashes, their smiles.
Their lives.
I ache. All of the time. With each hour that passes, with each cloud in the sky and leaf that falls to the ground, the beauty of the earth makes me ache. The precious hugs from my children, the laughter we hear, the hair we smell, makes me ache for James and Jake.
Sometimes, I close my eyes and instead of reliving their short lives with us and remembering the sting of their deaths, the depths of despair and the continuous ache in my heart, sometimes I imagine a life where they are with us, in our arms, sharing our lives, laying on our floors and on our beds, resting in our arms. I imagine laying with them and watching them breathe, listening to their sighs and pressing my lips on their foreheads. They lay side by side, so perfectly together, so perfectly with us. For a split second while imagining this, my heart forgets my sadness.
But it always remembers.
I pray. I pray for my peace, I pray for my boys, my family, our strength. I pray for the solitude to end.
I pray that someday, I’ll see James and Jake again.
I pray for that, for you, as well.
xoxo
You will, hon. You will.
WOW! That is all I can say is WOW! That is the most beautiful piece ever written about 2 sweet angels.
Thanks for sharing!
You will Beth. You will see them again. I truly believe they are with you everyday… in the flowers you see, the clouds that open up and show the sun, the smiles on your son and daughter’s face. I know they are with you and they are watching over you… so happy that you are their mommy and waiting for the day they can see you again.
Hugs
oh wow.
reading that from an entirely different perspective than when i did the first time i read it…(do you ever do that? you think of things and measure time as “before event” and “after event”?)
it says so so much and like something else i read recently, it’s all the things i am trying to say but can’t fully articulate. but i understand those feelings, it’s a completely different “crisis” per say and i don’t want to take away losing james and jake from you but i wanted you to know that to a certain extent, i get it.
thank you for giving me the words tonight and thank you for sharing. you are so loved.
big big hugs.
I don’t have words. I wish I could help, take away the pain…something. My heart aches with you.
I still pray that for you too…
Beth, I only recently found your blog and didn’t know about James & Jake until this post. So I read more history, and darn it if I didn’t use a box of tissues just a few posts into the archives. I have no idea what it is like to lose a child. But I know suffering and the way it sometimes sabotages faith. Ironically, when we most need it.
My friend just lost her baby girl (10 months old) this weekend. I was amazed by her words as she told us all of the loss–leaning already on the comfort of heaven, the knowledge that her sweet girl has a perfectly beating heart, held by her Heavenly Father.
There is no doubt you will see them again. And I hope you can find comfort in the belief that, in the same way He cares for your precious boys, He cares for you too.
My heart breaks for you. I know the pain of losing a baby, but not like you did. You will absolutely see those precious boys again and until you do, they have the perfect babysitter. Love you!
This post brings tears to my eyes and an incredible pain in my heart. I can’t even imagine what you are going through.
My heart breaks for you and your family. Sending you strength and healing Beth.
I pray for that too. I’m so, so sorry.
I’m so sorry for your loss Beth.
love you.
I remember when we were getting our pedicures and your woman said something similar, about how she was jealous that you were sending both kids off to school. I wanted to kick her or say something, but I couldn’t even put it into words… so instead, I just thought of how stupid her kids’ names were.
Every night, I pray for all of this for you, too. I’ll never stop. And when the quiet gets to much for you, I will always be here. Love you.
I pray for you to be able to see them again too. I have faith that you will.
I know that you will be reunited with those precious boys someday. Hugs to you and prayers for you today!
hugs!!!
oh, what an amazing way you have with words. i feel your sadness so strongly. i am so unbelievably sorry for your loss, and hope that you find strength in your family, friends and your faith.
I miss them too. Their lives have meant more to me than you will possibly ever know. They are part of me – not nearly as much as they are part of you, of course – but they are woven into some of the deepest parts of me. One day I’m going to try to tell you about it, but not here.
I’m logging off and hugging my kids.
Oh Beth,
It’s hard to put into words what it feels like when you share someone’s heart. I am so grateful to you for putting it into words, and so completely broken right along side you. This life can seem so long, but eternity is truly forever – and that is how long we get to be with them. It is my only comfort, and I hope it comforts you as well.
SJ
My heart aches for you, Beth. I wish our collective ache could take away some of yours. I wish that more than anything.
So many times I have felt the same way. I have always wondered if my son looks down from heaven and knows how much I miss him and love him
I can’t even go there mentally, to where your pain resides, Beth. After having two miscarriages, I understand an inkling of this hurt that is forever a part of you, but I know it is a completely different level. And to know that amount that I feel…and try to think of the depths that you feel…I just get it. Even though I don’t. If that makes any sense at all. I hope for heaven all the time, just to see those babies. I have no doubt that James and Jake will welcome you with the hugs you will always ache for.
Love reading your truest feelings.
This is the first time I’ve been to your blog, not sure how I got here but stumbled upon it somehow. As a mother who has lost a child myself, I feel your pain and am so sorry for the pain you are feeling today…and every day.
Thank you for sharing this with us. I hope and pray that God will bless you again soon, although it will not end the missing and the hurting. The line that resonated most with me is this: “why us? and why not us?”
my heart is breaking… oh the many things I’ve written so similar to this…
Thinking about you….
This breaks my heart.
Thinking of you and your babies.
XO~Z
Oh Beth
I’m so, so sorry. Sending you a hug from here.
You have given your sorrow words. I hope the words you are given back, here, give you strength in the care and love…
No words. Just love.
You will.
Praying for you continually today.
Thinking of you. ((hugs))
They will be waiting for you at the doors to the pearly gates. So happy to see you and to return the love that they have experienced from so many so often.
I pray that you are able to have some peace.
You will see them again. I am reminded of them daily when I wear my favorite T-shirt. I kid you not, I wear the T’s from this year’s walk on an almost daily basis. My niece in Louisiana begged for 1 of them when I was there on vacation, so I ended up giving her 1.
You will.
They will hug you so tightly. And they will thank you for being their mommy and loving them forever.
I only just started reading your blog. I don’t know your story. In fact, I didn’t know at all, that you’d lost two sons until I read this post – which was like reading words out of my own heart, and which made me start crying so hard, I couldn’t find the link for commenting. Your words are beautiful. They open up the ache in my own heart, the one I have somehow managed to tape shut most of the time. I’ve tried to imagine how my life would be different if my first son had lived. How our family dynamic would be different – but I can’t, and it usually makes me too sad to think about it, so I stop and remember hands no bigger than nickles, and teeny, teeny feet instead. But thank-you for sharing your words. I think maybe, maybe I needed to cry this morning.
I would bet James and Jake are playing with my cousin’s child, Caitlyn. She died about 9 years ago at 4 weeks of age. The empty spot does get better with time, even though it never leaves. I am so sorry you are going through this pain and I wish I could give you a huge hug while you cried. Please know that even though we don’t really “know” each other, I think of you a lot and am inspired by your strength.
oh honey, I just want to come to you right now and wrap my arms around you and give you the biggest hug.