Two more weeks

I can't believe that in two weeks a whole year will have passed since I held Dylan last. When he was born I inspected his face. Perfect. Tiny ears and a tiny nose...a tiny chin and tiny lips. I'm afraid that I'm forgetting what he looked like. How can I forget? It makes me sad to think about, but I know that it's inevitable. It happens as life moves on. But a mother isn't supposed to forget the face of her firstborn. It happens, I guess, in the process of life, but knowing that in advance doesn't ease the feeling.

I find myself thinking about how we are going to spend his birthday and those thoughts lead to tears each time. Desperate, crippling tears...the sort that lead to long sobs and a racing heart.

Derick and I spoke about it today. I'm having trouble talking about it. We both thought it would be best to take the day off, so we did. We think that we will go to the cemetary in the morning with Birthday balloons and a note to send off to heaven. I'm so sad to think of him spending his first birthday in a place without his parents. After the balloons...we are drawing a blank. It has to be something special and perfect. But there aren't any books on how to celebrate your dead child's first birthday. For some reason, no one wrote a manual on that. And yet it seems to be the single most painful event in a parent's life following the death of their child at any age.

I get frustrated, at times, because Derick seems to not want to talk about things. Or not that he doesn't want to talk about them, but he feels that if he does it's going to make me sad or cry so he avoids it. And when I bring it up, he changes the subject quickly. It's a routine that he's fallen into. And I don't know how to get him out of it. I hate it though. I want him to talk to me about things. I want to hear what he says, I want to be able to cry. Sadly, the routine that I've fallen into consists of crying in silence in private. I'm afraid to cry about most things these days...things not even related to the boys. I'm just feeling very alone in my grief lately and I want him to be able to chat with me and listen, not just hear, what I have to say.

I started a journal. It's a special one that I found with the word 'Hope' on the cover. I've started writing to my future children. If that makes sense. It's a way for me to share with them my feelings, my grief, the love that I have for them already, and the love that I share with their father. It makes me feel good to be doing something beneficial in the world of a mother...plus it will be good reading when they are adults! Hahah!