This week has been an odd one. I’ve had a lot of hospital flashbacks. A lot of memories that have popped up about our time with Kaden that I haven’t thought of in a while.
Wednesday was 7 months. The day itself wasn’t any harder than others – except as time gets further out I realize how very lonely grief can be. Again.
I miss Kaden so desperately, which even writing turns into feeling guilty about not writing on the twins more. But his was so – profoundly shattering. I miss the way he smelled, even when it was of all the medicine being pumped into him. I miss how much he looked like Bella. I miss the way he turned his little head towards me when we were near him, how he knew the sound of our voices. I miss his little eyes staring up at mine, blinking and looking ever so carefully at us.
I look at pictures of my pregnancy with him, or stumble on posts I wrote while pregnant, and it feels like it happened so someone else. I feel intensely sad for that girl who tried so hard to do everything right for 8 months to keep her son alive, and he was killed by a freak virus and his own heart.
I doesn’t seem like it’s about me because it’s too surreal. I have flashbacks to my pregnancy – the medications that made me so sick, the cerclage, the weekly shots of progesterone, the daily shots of Lovenox I had to do myself, the bruising, my hips hurting so bad I couldn’t walk more than a couple of minutes, the hyperemesis, the naps, the guilt, the tears, the anxiety, the grief of the twins, the stress on Bella and Sam, the physical toll, the sleepless nights, the constant panic that my water would break, the preterm labor, the weekly doctor visits, the ultrasounds, the check ups, the clothes, the excitement, the posts, the assurances and reassurances that this time, this baby was coming home.
And he died. He died anyway.
Please don’t say that I didn’t know what was coming, so how could I have done it differently or that it was good I did all of it – I don’t care, it doesn’t matter. It seems like some kind of a very cruel joke played on us.
I know I’ve said this for 7 months now, but I still can’t comprehend it. At all. I feel at times like I just need to write it and write it and write it until it sinks in. All of it. Just sinks in and hits and I can – whatever. I can grasp it and be more sad?
If irony had a picture, it would be me pregnant with Kaden. Worried, careful, and desperately anxious about things that, in the end, didn’t matter anyway.
Oh my Kaden. As confused and heartbroken and stunned that I still am, I would do it all again if I knew you’d be ok this time. I just can’t believe you didn’t make it.