This month is my son’s birthday month. He would be 13 years old this year if he was still on earth with us. I was looking back at my old blog, No More Afflictions (it’s still up today) that I started back in 2013, right after our second child was born, our rainbow baby Miss B. It was interesting to see how far I have come as a blogger, but I started that blog for healing, before I even knew blogging was a way to make an extra income. I enjoyed reading through the raw emotion and realness of these posts. Are they perfect? No. Do they have the right headlines, are they optimized for SEO, or do they reach a target audience? No. They are posts that I wrote only for me. Since I haven’t been on that blog in probably ten years, I decided to transfer those words, those raw and real words that I wrote after the death of our son, over to this blog. These are just here so they close to me, and also to share with those who truly want to get a glimpse into my journey as a grieving mother. Maybe you have been there too, maybe my words can resonate with you. Regardless, I will be posting these 11-year-old blog posts on the Peaceful Nest, words that take me back to that open rawness of painful grief. I am not touching them, editing them, or doing any type of SEO, they will stay exactly how they came out of me during those moments as I navigated my grief.
Precious Moments
Written: May 22, 2013
I take time each day to watch my daughter. I watch her sleep. I watch her giggle and smile. I watch as she looks in amazement at her surroundings. As I watch her my mind drifts to the last two years. Just five short months ago I was laying in a hospital bed doing everything I could to keep my daughter inside me. One more day, one more week, two more weeks, one more month. I was on hospital bedrest for a month. The doctors expected me to deliver earlier. They waited for me to get sick but I never did. When they would come in and say I don’t understand this why are you not getting sick. This does not happen, I said Its God. But I was still scared. Just a year earlier I had watched my son die in my arms. He was born at 27 weeks. If I could just get my daughter to 29 weeks then 30 then 31. Finally at 32 weeks it was time. On December 24, 2012, Christmas Eve I had a gut feeling, my daughter was going to come. They did an emergency c section and at 10:39 pm my daughter was born. 2 IBS 12 ounces. One day I will write her whole birth story and her brother`s birth story. Today is not that day. Today is about precious moments.
Each day I take a few minutes and watch my daughter sleep. Because I cannot watch her brother sleep.
Each day I take a few minutes and enjoy my daughter’s smiles and giggles because I cannot enjoy my son’s smiles and giggles.
Each day I take a few minutes and watch my daughter as she looks at the world around her in wonder because her brother never got to look in wonder at anything but an incubator.
Each day I take a few minutes and hold my daughter, feel the warmth of her body, kiss her little head because I cannot kiss or hug my son. I cannot watch him grow, I cannot hold him like I so desperately want to.
People mistakenly think that my daughter replaces my son. She doesn’t. But I am determined not to take a single laugh, a single cry, a single smile, a single moment with her for granted. These moments with her are moments I will never get with my son and they are such precious moments. I don’t want to miss a single one.