Sunday, August 23, 2009

Something in the Air

Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause
between the opposing miseries of summer and winter. ~Carol Bishop Hipps
We've been having unseasonably cool weather the past couple of days. It feels and looks like early Fall. Nobody is at the pool, enjoying the last few days of summer break. Everyone grabs a sweater before heading outside. If I hid the calendar, I would swear that it was October and not August.

This mild weather has transported me back to last year. To the last time I felt weather like this. The temperature outside has that same crisp feeling that it did on October 2nd, 2008. The night that I left the Maternity Ward feeling very un-maternal.

The grass is getting darker- turning from it's usual bright summer green, to a more muted green that it turns every year just before dying. I look out my window and see the same color grass I did on October 4th, 2008. The day that was supposed to be my baby shower, but instead turned into a day of visitors dropping off flowers and food and making awkward conversation before quickly shuffling out the door.

There is even a smell in the air. I'm pretty sure it's a Midwest smell symbolizing the end of pool parties and cook-outs and the beginning of college football and leaf blowing. It's the same smell that was in the air on October 26th, 2008- the day we had Caleb's memorial service. I stood there, in front of family and friends, reading a letter I wrote to Caleb- feeling the crisp air, noticing the dying grass, and smelling that autumn smell.

I was closer to him then. His hospital gown still had the remnants of his smell. People around me still let me grieve openly and honestly. I could still remember the way his skin felt against my lips.

The weather is back, but my Caleb is gone forever.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Our Thing

Sorrow you can hold, however desolating, if nobody speaks to you. If they speak, you break down. ~Bede Jarrett

I've been M.I.A. lately. Writing about Caleb, whether other people read it or not, is helpful sometimes. Most of the time actually. But there are times, like these past few weeks when writing is just too much. It brings up too many emotions that are already making it hard just to live life each day.

Brandon tells me that Caleb is "our thing". I can't expect other people to remember him, to celebrate his life the way we do. He says that by expecting that from everyone I'm just causing myself more pain. I KNOW he is right. It makes sense. He's our son--we are the people responsible for his legacy. Still, sometimes is nice when people remember. It's nice when grandparents include him in their counts of grandchildren or when people bring him up in conversation. I know I can't expect this from everyone all the time, but occasionally it's nice to know that people still care and remember him and the life that was cut way too short.

Caleb is "our thing", probably more so "my thing". I was the first one to know he was growing inside me, to feel him move, to hold him, to kiss him. The moment I found out there was a baby on the way my life changed. I started making all these plans. I had him grown-up and married off before I was 15 weeks along. Now here I am with nothing but a memory and a broken heart.

Oh...and some flowers....