Bright spots

Dear sweet Tavish,
As the weeks go by, it gets easier. Not easier to know you are gone-I still wish with all my heart that you were here with me, in my arms-but easier to bear the weight that comes with that knowledge. People ask me how I am. I still respond with "ok." i can't say good, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to respond honestly that I am "good." How can a mother that has lost her child be more than ok? Life goes on, and some days are better than others. There are bright spots, however; times when the weight of your loss doesn't leave me feeling like Atlas-carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. Today was one of those bright moments.

The sun shown outside today, and for once, it didn't seem too bright to me. I was happy to let the sunlight filter through the gloom in the house. I went to the chiropractor, and didn't have to remind myself that if I didn't, I would regret it tomorrow. I did basic stuff, but it wasn't exhausting to do so. Someone mentioned their baby in class, and it didn't make me cringe inside.

I write this to you, and I think "these don't sound like huge accomplishments. This is basic life." But then I look back on the last several weeks, and even several months, and I can see the change.  Life has not been kind, and it has been a struggle to go through it. Days like today remind me that it was not always so, nor will it always be so. This burden will become easier to bear.

I laughed for the first time in a long time last night. Your dad hit me with a pillow, and I laughed and hit him back. We were playing. I can't remember the last time he and I played. It felt good, with no guilt attached to it. It was a bright spot, in an otherwise difficult time.

I miss you more than I can say. Loving you is one of the hardest things I have ever been given, but I wouldn't change it for the world. I can't tell you how much joy I have in the midst of this; knowing that you are in heaven. Through my tears, I can thank God that you are perfect, and that your body is whole now. A friend of mine shared with me a vision she had had of her daughter being able to introduce her to all of the other Trisomy children that had passed away. I know you will do the same with me one day.

I miss you now, but I know that when we meet again, it will be so much better. I can't tell you how much I long to hold you again, but I know you're having the time of your life. When you were inside of me, I told you about your Grandpa, and how I wished you had had a chance to meet him. Now you have. You get to see him every day, and know the love he has for his grandkids. You get to hear all the stories he has about me when I was growing up. I am not happy to not have you with me, but I can say that I have joy, knowing you are in a much better place.

The more often I can look at the situation with joy, rather than the deep pain I feel over losing you, the easier it is to see the sun behind the clouds. It helps to make the bright spots a little more frequent, the dark a little more manageable.

Run and play little boy, with a brain, lungs, and a heart that will never fail you.

Love,
Mom