Witness
Pictures show what I couldn’t see in front of me. He bloomed as he graduated from the vent, almost plump in his stability. But then, a few days later, he began to falter.
I can see that now, tentatively venturing into the ancient past of two weeks ago.
Yes… there. His face, that grimace, the shape of his head, the pallor of his skin. He was lost. But even as they wheeled him away for the shunt surgery, the accelerant, I hadn’t considered the possibility that he would take a turn. I was stupidly placated by rosy cheeks, by the fact that he looked so much better than he had at birth. Daring to hope that he may not only survive but be unscathed. Almost like a healthy baby.
Our purpose is to bear witness for our children. Graceful or clumsy we walk beside them, hold their hands as far as we’re able. Even when we despair in futility at their path, it is our soul’s contract to accompany them.
Blessing them, loving them as they intentionally or unintentionally break our hearts.
This is the labour of parenting.
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Earlier today the nurse said to me with great authority and the best of intentions, "Don’t expect him to actually feed. He won’t. He’s too little yet. Just let him have a sniff, and that’s great. Let me know if you need anything."
Ben and I cooed conspiratorially to each other as she swished away to her other charges. Let's show 'er, shall we sweets?
Fifteen minutes later she pulled back the curtains to find Ben, eyes blissfully drooping as he demonstrated the fine art of suck-swallow-breathe, making the contented squeaks and burps that could only mean one thing: milk moustache.
(An admirable feat given that the object of his newfound affection is twice the size of his head.)
Back at home, Evan’s voice echoed in the gurgling empty of post-bath: "I show mama!"
He careens around the corner, freshly toweled and dangling. "MAMA!" He yells, puppy-dogging like he hasn’t seen me in weeks. Leaps into my lap and throws his pudgy arms around my neck, warm and steaming-fresh. "I have BUSY DAY! I see FWIENDS. I pway in pwaygwound, a-big TWAINS! A-dis way, mama. I jammies. Cuddle, pweeze!"
These two boys are pure joy. They help me to know for sure: despite this hole in my heart, grief will not define us. Love will. Very hallmark, but very true.
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People at a loss for words say this: Your story makes me realize how easy we’ve got it / how insignificant our problems are / how lucky I am. I think my life has gone to shit, but then I think of you.
For a flash I’m tempted to take you by the shoulders, pull you close and swiftly knee you in the groin. But then… it’s how I would feel. Come to think of it, it is how I feel. Beauty all around.
Being drenched in perspective has made my heart a hundred times the size of average. My chest may burst from this expansion in the same way my belly felt it might from pregnancy, impossibly stretched.
I was a cynic, a pessimist, a heckler. Not terribly generous. Maddeningly impatient. Now despite moments of the heaviest sadness I’ve ever felt, there is love: more love than I’ve ever felt. Not specific love towards one person or another but magic, sparkle, gratitude swirling all around us.
I wonder if Liam's peace will stick… or if it will be a month or two before I'll be cursing at people in traffic again. I'd like to think he's made me a more peaceful person.
I'd like to be worthy of him.
sweetsalty kate
73 Comments
Reader Comments (73)
and the peace may not carry you high through every moment, but the change in perspective...that will likely last. good and bad, but like all perches, simply the place from which you see the world. and wanting to be worthy will always be part of that worldview from here...having something to be worthy for, and the perspective to see it, all at once, a gift.
and Ben nursed! smiling at him, and laughing at Evan's sweetness and enthusiasm.
and sending you, as ever, a listening ear.
Kate, I think of ya'll every day. And I send my mama mojo to you. And your boys.
I am changed.
Thank you for the image of your heart, stretched to capacity with your love.
I am happy for you that you have peace and two beautiful children.
I was reading "Horton Hears a Who" to my kids tonight, and thinking of you all. "A person's a person, no matter how small." It made me think, with wonder, about how sometimes the smallest people can have the biggest impact on our lives.
I thought of your journey today as I read "My many Colored Days". You're in my thoughts (even though I don't know you...) I think that when you come out the other side of the grief blanket, as a friend calls it, you're changed forever. You simply are. It's how you survive.
And you'll be cussing in traffic way sooner than you think.
And you raw and honest words have changed many of us.
so glad to know that evan is evan, and ben is able to suck! may only peace and love surround you and your family, kate, and give you the strength you'll need as you journey on through this.
Edwin Markham
Your words have me thinking about the gifts that sadness can bring. No one asks for grief to enter their lives, but it is true that"Into each life some rain must fall." I've always felt I've had more than my share of rain and while I was experiencing it, I questioned whether I was cursed or just plain unlucky. I am amazed at how emotionally wise you are. You have already figured out a way to see the sort of peace and appreciation for life the loss of Liam has brought. Having lost one baby in the womb and one at birth, I too know this gift. It's not to say that it's easy. Several years later, I am still grief-stricken at the thought of our little Peyton's sweet face or her tiny casket. I think about our little boy, Luka, who I never saw because they didn't ask me at the hospital whether I wanted to see him. This makes me love my three children all the more. I hug them so tightly because they are all miracles. I am grief-stricken over Liam and think about him all the time, this baby I never met, who has the purest soul. However, I am heartened by your depth and wisdom. You will pull through this and continue to cherish the light that emerges out of darkness. Also, thanks for sharing Ben's triumph. Yea, mama's milk straight from the source!
More importantly, and understand I am still new to this whole ''parenting a memory'' thing so these aren't words of wisdom so much as, ''hope this helps'' but please never doubt you're worthy of Liam. Of course you are; you will carry his memory in your heart and share it with the world. Who is more worthy than his own parents?
Please take good care of each other. You're in our thoughts everyday.
peace, kate.
peace, ben.
peace, liam.
your love? it just pours off this screen.
You may once again curse others in traffic, we are only human and stupidity can drive one mad, especially on the road... but the only difference is when you pass by that "crazy driver who must have received his/her license from a cracker jack box," you'll feel super guilty when you discover that he/she is an elderly person or a young parent that has kiddos that their attention had temporarily detoured to. Caution: within the first at least 7 months after birth, this may cause the increase ability to drive through blurred tears... feeling horrible for having thought any negative thoughts about that poor soul you just so rudely passed. You know, not that I have experienced that a time or two... (more like a hundred).
Our children are gifts. As are many of the people we cross paths with in life. Those that we spend only minutes with that influence us in some significant way that we may not even realize until years later. Those that come during moments in our life that we really needed them to, though we may not have known it at the time. And then there are those that are always with us, whether it be physically before us or those that though they are not seen, they are felt. The latter of course, being our children. We will be old and gray and they will forever be with us... once a mommy, we never stop thinking like one, do we? Remember the girl you were before Evan, and though you may not have noticed, you changed... you became a mommy. And with each child, you change and grow even more. Children are like fertilizer, compost for our hearts and our souls. As moms we nurture them from the moment they are a living, thriving peanut, the size of a hummingbird's sneeze. We guide them through life. Yet, it is our little angels that cause us to flourish in life. Liam may have only physically been here on this earth for a short time. But what a radiant, magnificent gift he was- to his mommy, his daddy, his wombmate and brother Ben, and his awesomely cool, big brother Evan. And quite possibly, through you, he was a gift to us all, just as you have been.
Kate, you are a beautiful, amazingly strong woman with a sense of peace and acceptance in this choatic, bumpy world we live in. Here we have all hoped to give you a sense of peace or comfort in these last few months. Hoping our words would reach across cyberspace and miles and hug you, hold your hand, and cry "mommy tears" with you. Yet, you have been the inspiration. You and your amazing Ben and pure Liam. Thank you.
I think of Liam everyday. Through your witness, his life has touched so many and he's made a difference. He chose you to hold his hand--old souls make very wise choices.
It's a gift to enjoy each moment as it comes. Scribing your moments with Evan brings special joy and wide smiles. I love it!
Good on Ben! Show that nurse what a smart boy you are.
And I'd like to be around when you knee people in the groin. :) I'm a sucker for that move.
Good for Ben! What a hurdle to have jumped!
I'm SO proud of Ben for nursing! Yea! I know it had to work wonders for you physically and emotionally....doing what mama's are supposed to do. "Mama's Milk" is a wonderful thing.
You are constantly in my thoughts. Here's to many more nursing sessions!
Much love,ashley
You're right...your experiences do give us readers a bit of vicarious perspective and help us hold closer those we love and appreciate what we have. But they are also like that sign, a reminder that anything can happen to any of us in a heartbeat. We read and wonder "what would I do?" knowing that someday we might be on the receiving end of a really incredibly nasty unfair crappy turn of events. I, for one, hope I would be as honest-emotionally open-hopeful-angry-expressive as you have been.
Keep writing and loving!~Annie
And I *do* hope you return to getting mad in traffic. It's wonderful that you are feeling a peace and calmness right now, but you need to have the spectrum. I personally think if you can't lay on the horn every once and a while, what's the use of driving anyway?
Thrilled about the breastfeeding news. Yay for being passed out milk drunk!
yay for Ben!
Don't worry about what might happen in a few months. I'm sure there will be new lessons to learn from this world. There always is.
In the meantime, nursing and wet hugs? OH YEAH. Enjoy that.
You writing is so moving and I must finally reach out and comment. I too lost a baby. I watched her die slowly in my arms and those precious moments with her forever changed my perspective on life. You may curse at traffic one day again, but it will never be the same because nothing offers more perspective on life than the loss of a child. Nothing.
My thoughts are with you Kate, and your family, and your precious Liam.
It makes me weak in the knees to see how much beauty Liam has brought into the world, through you, Kate, and filtering on down through so many others. Maybe he hasn't turned you into a permanent saint, but I'll bet the heart growth is there to stay. :)
Sunlight on a leafy tree has never meant so much to me.
Thank you so much for sharing,
Thinking of you all,
xo
I marvel at the grace and strength you show us.