I did not feel like writing this week. The next 10 paragraphs are completely disjointed. The absence of flow in this entry could be symbolic. I am all over the place this week. Constantly feeling conflicting emotions. So forgive me for the following fragments of thought.

We had to acknowledge what would have been Eden’s 6-month birthday on Wednesday. It was obviously on my radar, but I underestimated how missed milestones would affect me. When I allow myself to picture what our family would have been like, I am deeply saddened. But when I think of the morning we found her, the pain is crippling. And when I allow myself to feel the slightest bit sad, my mind goes right to that morning. I think that is what you call trauma.

Luckily, I had a 90min counseling appointment booked for that afternoon. I admitted that although I cried all morning and nearly threw up, it felt good. Like I mentioned in past entries, the girl’s needs didn’t stop when Eden passed. I have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other every day. Needless to say, I don’t have a lot of time to reflect on this tragedy and grieve. The show must go on. When I have a day that I just allowed myself to act the way I have been feeling, if felt freeing. Miserable, but freeing.

Missing Her Presence

Three months later I still have the instinct to listen for her cry or tell the girls to “BE QUI-YET!!!” Only to be reminded that I am being foolish. She is gone. I am forever waiting for her to wake up. Always listening for that cry, the crackle of the monitor. My ear is still in tune to my new baby and I just can’t turn that off. It’s chemical, it’s natural, it’s instinctual. My body is designed to be my baby’s care taker. It’s like someone who has lost a limb but still feels phantom pains in that leg, but it is no longer there! I am hearing the cries of a baby no longer there. I feel like I am going crazy.

It’s one thing to be reminded of her, and another thing to be reminded of her absence. There is evidence of her absence all over our house. The things that remain empty and unused. The ErgoBaby, her carseat, her cradle that is still in our room. Her nursery remains untouched. The same sheets are on her mattress, the size 1 diapers and bum cream lined up on the change table. I still have her clothing folded neatly in her dresser drawers. I am consumed by the fear of losing her scent. The strongest trigger for memory. At Eden’s baby shower I was given K’Pure room spray. Appropriately so it’s called ‘Settle Down’. I can always bring myself back to those first weeks after bringing her home when I spray that. It isn’t HER smell however, that fresh baby milky smell. If I lose that I lose her. So, everything stays, sheets, blankies, wraps, all unwashed.

I teeter back and forth between turning Eden’s items into a shrine, treating her nursery like Holy ground. And burying it away, closing the door and pretending like it doesn’t exist. I’m sure neither one is healthy. But at this moment nothing feels right. I guess it feels good to leave it all untouched, so I will keep it that way until something changes.

Photographs

I had a thought today. I saw a family friend post a photo of their son they lost over 30 years ago. The photo was obviously dated. And it dawned on me, all these photos I cherish will one day seem like another lifetime. A different era. Her cute outfits will look outdated and our home decor in the background will be laughable. When Eden first died, Nathan and I both made comments on how we are SO happy we took so many photos of her. It felt like her whole life was documented with photos and quick videos of our precious moments. But lately it is obvious that time is going on and the number of photos is staying the same. I have looked at them all, studied them, cried over them. I have each one memorized. And that’s it. That’s all there will ever be. With each day that goes by I feel like there are less and less documented moments of her life. It is becoming so apparent how short our time with her really was.

No Warning, No Control

Eden’s passing came without warning. A blindsiding tsunami. Nothing comes without warning these days. Especially something so colossal as losing a child. Having a baby is life changing, but you have 9 months to get used to the idea and prepare yourself and your family. Everything else in life seems to have a warning. Weather warnings go directly to my phone. My laptop warns me multiple times before it dies. My phone warns me when it gets too hot or running out of space. My van even tells me when to brake! For something so life altering to come so suddenly, it’s a major shock to the system.

At times like these us earthlings are reminded of the sobering truth, we have no control.

We have a pool in our back yard. The months before Eden was born we built a proper fencing system around the pool and paid a ridiculous amount of money for a retractable cover. It was 100% safe. It was 100% more than what we wanted to spend, but at the end of the day, we knew we could never forgive ourselves if the unthinkable happened. We had to take every precaution possible.

And then, 3 months later, in the safest place our child could possibly be, the unthinkable did happen. I am left with no regrets in money spent childproofing, just bitter irony that we can pour ourselves into the safety of our children but at the end of the day, We Have No Control! This information is nearly impossible to digest. We trust our kids will be safe. But in the wake of a disaster you are left with the humbling truth that our lives hold no absolutes. Consistency is dead. Gone are the days of expectation. At its core we can find freedom, but initially it’s frantic.

The Power in Falling Apart

There is a Hindu Goddess called Akhilandeshvari. It translates to “The Always Not Unbroken Goddess.” She is broken, even down to her disjointed name. I am obviously not Hindu, but I can’t stop thinking about what I read about her years ago. She has the ability to break apart over and over again, only to put herself back together, every time. THIS is her greatest power. In every rebirth she is a greater version of herself, stronger. When you are broken, utterly lost, overwhelmed with despair, at your most vulnerable we are in fact our most powerful. It is because of the despair that we are given a choice, how will this transform me? She is the personification of annihilation and rebirth, light shining through the cracks. I will close with my favorite imagery attached to this goddess, her ride. This chick rides a crocodile as her mode of transportation. It symbolizes her choice to reject fear, and use the things that frighten us the most, that could ultimately end us, and use it as a vehicle to charge forward.

All aboard the grief-croc.