Death and Fear

I had a horrible dream last night. I dream the is sort of a possibility, but only to people who have experienced the "impossible".

I had a dream she was going to die. I had to say goodbye to the little girl who has helped put light back into my life.

Here's the dream-like part; I knew how, when, and what time she was going to die. I remember clearly in my dreams being forced to say goodbye, begging with fate to not allow this to happen; to change its mind.

Just like reality, I knew it was a loosing battle and I cried over her still breathing body and wanting to tell her all the things I needed to tell her. But of course all I could think of was, "mommy loves you."

I woke frantic after my poor attempt at goodbye to be staring right at her, still sound asleep ignorant to my horrible nightmare.

I laid there watching her chest, up and down, in and out…and the dream begins to replay in my mind.

Tears begin to roll down my face. I could only see her silhouette through the ocean that has formed in my eyes.

I can't loose her too.

That statement has become a frequent one lately. Sometimes as a quiet whisper and sometimes said out loud.

I guess it is creeping around more often because I will be heading back to work in a few short weeks.

What if she dies while I'm at work?

Sick. I know but that's my reality.

I don't want to head back to work not just because of the whole fear of her dying while I'm not around but because I just don't want to leave her. I want to be with her, them all the time. I fear I'm going to miss something. The something that could change everything. The something that could be marked a milestone.

She only wants me. Does she sense my fear? Does she know? Does she feel the same?

Nightmares and fears.
Fears and reality.
Reality and death.

A look back

Do you ever look back at old pictures, I mean old pictures from 10+ years ago, of yourself and see you as a different person? Not like a different person personality wise. A different person like someone that is not you. 

I found myself sorting through some old stuff of mine at my parents house the other day and came across some old pictures of me in high school, me with ex boyfriends, and me as a small child. I looked at those and felt completely removed from the person I was looking at. I felt like it wasn't really me. It was of some one different. Someone who I never thought would give birth to her stillborn son. Someone who I never thought would be living the life she is today. 

I was never one who thought I would live to be in my twenties let alone now my thirties. I don't know why, I just thought as a teenager that I would die before then. Not because of my life style but because I just could never see that far into the future. 

I guess in a sense I did die.

I died at the ripe old age of thirty-two. 

I buried myself on May 9, 2011. My name is even on the wall to prove it. 

Except I'm not in there. 

Look over one more. There.

I'm in with my son.

Curled right around his little white casket. Holding tighter than I ever thought possible. 

I was dead for 1 year, 2 months, and 1 day. I knew I had to live when I gave birth to my daughter, my rainbow in a perfect storm. 

I still reside in that mausoleum with Sam, but a new me has appeared. I'm still trying to figure out who she is, but I do know that she is not the same girl in those pictures. She is not that same girl from a year ago or 2 years ago.

Looking at those pictures I see innocence, immaturity, possibilities, a journey.

Never did I think that person in those pictures was going to be me.

Kids

Kids.

Just the word alone has really been bothering me lately. I think it is more the plural part of it more than anything. After Sam passed away I would say "kids" in conversations, get that puzzled look from people as they glance over at the only "kid" standing near me. That usually was my cue to either tell Sam's story or interject his name.

Now there's no explaining to be had.

I say the word "kids" and people can undoubtedly agree, "yes, kids".
I don't like it.
I miss the opportunities to tell my son's story and spread awareness about stillbirth.

I find myself using the phrase, "the girls" more lately. To me, this is a way of not forgetting to include same in my "kids" ratio while still referring to my only living kids. 

Do you ever think about that? Think, that one small word could rock someone's world and send them into a valley of grief or anger?

Who know such a stupid word would bother me so much. Maybe there will be a day that I won't think of it that way. Maybe there will be a day that I don't have to feel the need to tell Sam's story to the world (i doubt that will ever happen). Maybe people will hear me when I say kids and know that I am including Sam into the factor.

I could always talk to people about my THREE kids...

Until then, my girls and I know who's missing from the kids in our family.