Scattered

Today is September 12, which means we are just four days away from Noah’s first birthday/the first anniversary of his death. The fact that we have to mark both his birth and his death on the same day seems somehow absurd to me, and I have struggled with what to call September 16 in conversation. The word birthday somehow seems hollow since we never had the chance to celebrate with him, yet going the anniversary route seems to negate the fact that Noah was born. Because of my background in English and writing, I’m hyper-aware of connotations and don’t like to use words that don’t capture my meaning accurately. I’m not sure how I’m going to resolve this particular dilemma, though, so for now I often use both terms. Please forgive the awkwardness of the phrasing – it’s just something I have to do for now.

Over the last year, I’ve assumed I would come to these days leading up to the birthday/anniversary and be able to analyze my emotions and reflect on my experiences in a sensible way. When we started this journey last September, I was at a loss for words. I had been processing my life through writing for nearly 20 years, but suddenly I was unable to verbalize my thoughts and emotions. Next year, I thought, surely next year I’ll be ready to use the birthday/anniversary triggers to write a coherent analysis of this experience. Yet here I am, almost a year later and I feel almost as much at a loss for words as I did then. My thoughts are scattered, my emotions are conflicted and my brain is refusing to process anything coherently. The difference is that now I’m willing to just take the plunge, sit in front of a computer and see what happens when I start writing. Please bear with me as there’s a chance none of this will make much sense at all.

Fall came to Maine a bit early this year, and the chill in the air has brought back a flood of associations and memories. Last year, the first two weeks of September were actually quite hot (for this area, at least), more like the weather we expect to have in August. Coincidentally, the switch last year happened on the day we lost Noah, so rather than reliving the days leading up to September 16, I have been having vivid flashbacks to the early days of our grief. Memories of walking around in a daze, wishing I would wake up from this awful nightmare in which my baby was dead. Memories of how utterly lost I felt as I tried to envision a future entirely different from the one I had been anticipating for months. Memories of the exhaustion I experienced as I trudged through interminably long days dominated by grief.

Surprisingly, not all of my associations with those early days are painful. I’ve also been remembering the outpouring of love we experienced from people in all parts of our lives. The comfort we felt from the knowledge that so many people were praying for us and thinking about us. The strength we gathered from prayer and the ways in which our faith grew. The incredible knowledge that Noah is in a place where he will never have to experience suffering or pain.

In the midst of all this remembering, the baby in my womb is becoming an increasingly solid presence. My belly has grown to the point where strangers aren’t afraid to ask when I’m due, and I frequently feel the flutter of tiny arms and legs. I’m so thankful for the blessing of this new life, especially as I remember the aching emptiness I felt in the first days and weeks after we lost Noah. As I would wake in the morning, momentarily oblivious in my half-asleep state, the reality of our situation would come rushing back to me as I put my hand to my puffy shell of a stomach and realized there would be no responding kick. I have no words to express the devastation of feeling of being so empty.

My brain seems to be finished with writing for now, so I will wrap up this post and let the rest of my thoughts continue to marinate before I try to put them into words. Spending time reflecting is good for me right now, though, so I’m sure I will write more this week.