Just when I thought I was through this part of grief, it hit me like a ton of bricks tonight. Strangers no nothing of Sam's existence.
Tonight I had Mom's Night at Michalin's preschool. We had a blast! She was so excited to show me all the work she does throughout the day. Moving from on thing to the other. Hopping all over the place in excitment.
As I sit there and watch her in her glory and glomming with pride, I sit there wanting to scream. I scan the room and begin to notice the mom's. The mom's that are ready to pop with their newborn babies at any moment. The mom's that are proud to put their bellies out there for all to see. The mom's with their preschooler's sibling in tow. The mom's juggling the unmanageable time between their preschooler and toddler that is starving for mommy's attention.
I try to remain focused on the reason I am there. Michalina. She needs a mom that is inthralled with all that she is doing. A mom that is free of grief. A mom that is free from the pain.
I struggle to give that to her. Even when I know it is what she deserves. My mind wanders. My heart begins to slowly crumble.
I desperately want to inform each and every one of those moms, Michalina is not my only child. I have a son in heaven. He was born in May. If he were alive he would be here too.
I sit there in silence. Struggling to maintain focus on the sunshine in my world. She looks at me with innocent eyes, eyes that are suffering too. But she doesn't know it. She is unaware of the difference between her friends younger siblings and hers. Unaware that most babies don't live in heaven. Unaware that she has an angel next to her.
Why do I continue to feel the need to prove Sam's existence. To strangers. What do they care about my tragic loss? Would they care? Should they care? Do I look as different as I feel? Can a stranger see my pain? I want them to see. I want them to know. I had a baby boy and he was born May 9, 2011. Michalina has a brother.