“It
has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity,
covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
~Rose Kennedy
It
has been two years…it has been 730 sunrises…it has been 17,520 hours since the
longest and shortest 26 hours of my life. In that time I can say, with absolutely certainty
that not a single day has passed that I have not thought about Kate. I think about Kate every morning when I see
her picture and when I pull out of my driveway and my car faces “Kate’s tree”
that is planted at the end of our cul-de-sac with her monument beneath. I think about Kate when I see a little girl
that is about her (would-be) age and resembles how I picture Kate in my
mind. I think about Kate when I’m
snuggling a sleeping Lyla. I think about
Kate when I am asked how many children I have.
I think about Kate when I see and touch the physical scars left
behind. It’s safe to say I still think
about Kate all of the time.
The
familiar dread of this past week’s anniversary washed over me again yesterday,
but it was nothing like the paralyzing heartache I experienced last year.
Time…
Wounds…
Pain
Lessens…
Last
year I relived every hour of every day of that week as if I was there again…starting
with her diagnosis on Tuesday our day in Iowa City on Wednesday, her birth on
Friday and our tearful good bye on Saturday. That week last year was, excruciating, lonely
and heartbreaking; however, once the week ended and the first anniversary of
Kate’s short time with us passed I felt a weight lifted. I felt as if I could walk a little taller. Last
year I was eight months pregnant with a little girl whose due date was only one
day after Kate’s. Needless to say my
emotions, hormones and fears were all running on overdrive. Until I weathered Kate’s first anniversary
week I had not realized how guarded and almost disconnected I was with Lyla’s
pregnancy. In hindsight I realized that
emotionally I felt as though I needed to devote an entire year to actively grieving
for Kate before I could look forward to the birth of another sweet little girl. The passing of her first
anniversary felt like a wave on the shore… it brought with it a new layer of
peace and took away some of the emotional burden I had been shouldering for the
past year.
Time…
Wounds…
Pain
Lessens…
In
year two I continue to become more and more comfortable in my ‘new normal’ and
am beginning to see more and more of the person I was and the person I want to
be. There are still times I fight the
fear and negativity that is often left in the wake of tragic loss, but I no
longer feel guilty when I laugh and have a good time and I no longer face daily
fears that something tragic will happen to one of my other three children. (I know I will always be vulnerable to fears
of losing another child, but I hope that paralyzing fear will continue to dissipate
with additional time.) I can (and did just
last month) cry in the produce section of the grocery store with a total
stranger who was gushing over Lyla and shared with me her heartbreaking story
of losing a child, but after hugging her and walking away I smiled, sent a
little prayer to Kate telling her I love and miss her and continued to have a
day that was not overcome with consuming grief.
I have finally found an answer to the question, “How many children do
you have?” that I feel includes Kate, but does not make the inquirer
uncomfortable. In the days, weeks, and years moving forward
my goal is to be the most whole, positive and impactful person I can be. I will forever strive to be someone that an angel
would be proud to call ‘mom’!
My
once shattered heart is being pieced back together and mended with scar tissue
(and by Kate’s little sister). Still, I
have realized through my own experience and through conversations with other
mothers who have lost children that the grief never ends.
“Grief
never ends… but it changes. It’s a
passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of
faith… It is the price of love.”
~Author Unknown
My
Journey, my passage continues… A mother’s natural instinct is to protect her
baby and her children. When a child dies,
the mother’s instinct is to protect their memory. You are remembered Kate…You are remembered,
and loved and missed! Thank you to everyone who continues to remember Kate.
