Eight Months

I don’t know if I am feeling better, or if I have been so busy that I don’t have the time to write.

Last Saturday I observed Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day.  Certainly, I don’t need a specific day or special event to remember my son, but I lit a new candle for him in memoriam.  How strange my life is without him.  And, at the same time, how familiar my life is without him.  It’s not like I had the opportunity to cultivate new norms while Wyatt was alive.  No, for four months we separated our time by living in the Kaiser Hospital, the Ronald McDonald house and the baby NICU.  The same months that are beginning to fade from my memory

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With time, with each day, new memories are beginning to take shape.  I guess you could say I have been distinctly pursuing new memories.

Halloween is nearing and I’m going to dress up like Professor McGonagall.  (Yay, Harry Potter!)   At first I didn’t want to, but lately I’ve been feeling better about joining life and all its traditions.  It doesn’t come without complications, as last Halloween was when we announced our pregnancy to the family.  Wyatt isn’t physically here, but he is here.  I feel him inside of my heart, I talk to him in the car, and I look for signs that he is reaching out to me.  I want him to see his mother celebrating Halloween, as he would be had he been able.  Wyatt would be eight months old and I’d have dressed him in a cute pumpkin costume or a bonesy skeleton nighty.  How adorable he would have been!  My heart aches at the idea!

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The cloud of grief has somewhat lifted, at least this week, and for that I am hopeful.

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