I think we covered that two posts ago . . .
I guess that's why it's always a shock when I find myself unusually emotional come mid September of every year.
My heart remembers, even when my mind has done it's best to forget.
You would think that four years and two beautiful girls later, September 18th wouldn't be such a big deal.
You would think that I could count my blessings, stay positive and just live through the day like any other.
I certainly thought that.
And yet, every year I prove myself wrong.
It begins on September 11th. A Day Of Remembrance. The whole world remembers the terror, the loss of life, the heroes. I remember a perfect day at the museum with my family.
And I remember the disconnect from one Saturday to the next. When everything fell apart. When I realized the path I must once more walk. The path of loss and grief and recovery.
I'm still working on the recovery part.
What exactly is it that one recovers when you lose a baby?
There are no memories. No pictures. No trace that that particular life ever touched yours.
Just a date on the heart's calendar, circled in red, forever.
I sometimes feel ashamed that I no longer remember the other dates. The days that the three other babies left me. All I can recall is the approximate time of the month.
"Let's see, my first pregnancy test was positive on the 4th of July, so we must have lost Galen towards the end of July 2003.
"I knew I was losing Kelly on Mother's Day 2004, so it was sometime in the middle of May.
"We announced our next pregnancy at Cy's first birthday party, but we lost Aiden before Labor Day, so it had to have been the end of August 2006."
I feel like a bad mother for forgetting.
But the heart can only take so many remembrances like that throughout the year. So, today becomes The Day.
If only I could plan for it, maybe it wouldn't take me by surprise. Maybe I wouldn't be crying at Taco Bell over one thing and realize with a jolt that it's really because tomorrow is the day I have dreaded all year. That even though I have five lovely, darling children, they will never make up the deficit I won't admit to carrying.
I'm supposed to feel grateful. And I am.
I'm supposed to celebrate survival. And I do.
Maybe the time has come to really circle the date. Make plans for next year. Not allow myself to be caught off guard again.
After waking to the gloom of a September shower, I decided to clear the schedule. We did make it to music lessons at 10:30. I looked like something the cat drug in.
A rather melodramatic cat.
The non musical kids dumped a box of shredded paper and strewed it through the teacher's house.
Ana contributed to the mayhem by helpfully barfing in puddles, rolling in them and then rolling in the shredded paper.
You might be wondering, why was there shredded paper in the house to begin with? Well, our sweet teacher is the composed mother of a single toddler. This toddler actually plays with the confetti without making a mess. I didn't know that was even possible. Neither did my kids. Miss Rachel has privately sworn to keep the tactile paper put away when our crew arrives.
On the way home I decided spur of the moment to pick up Little Caeser's, rent Mom's Night Out and call my sister, Joanna to come watch it with us. School be hanged!
And so, the clouds cleared, a glittering sun regained it's place in the azure sky. The world slowly sets itself right.
That's the way it is with September.
|Cy and Dee at the Philbrook Museum, Sep. 11, 2010|
I love all of you!
Tomorrow will be a better day.
It always is.