Right Where I Am: 5 months

The Right Where I Am Project was created for parents who have experienced pregnancy loss or infant death. People are invited to share about where they are in their grief journey. 
Thank you Angie Yingst for creating this project of healing through community. I so needed to know that I am not alone. This path is unique to each of us but our pain is shared.

I sit stunned on my couch, as I seem to do a lot now. I am overwhelmed with everything. I am heavy. I am wounded.

One of my two oh-so-cuddly feline babies, crawls up on my chest and settles on my bossom. I reach to kiss his head and I begin to sob. I feel the weight of his body on mine. I recognize that at 16lbs he weighs about what you would today. The tears continue. I have become more comfortable with the tears, though sometimes they still feel trapped. When they come I let them, I'm not scared of them anymore. Why wouldn't I be sad?!?! I lost my son! You are so worth my tears!

Today you would be 5 months old. Christmas is two days away. What a celebration we would have had! And we would have loved every minute of it.

I said that I wasn't going to travel this year, that with a new baby, people could come see us. But we still would have done it. We would have proudly driven you across the state and even up north to visit all of your grandparents, great-grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins etc. Mamaw's house would have literally been a zoo. Not only would she have bought all of the stuffed giraffes at the toy stores but she would probably have found a way to bring Wilson, the new baby giraffe, from the local zoo.

This time last year, we were so ecstatic! It may have been the first Christmas since I was a child that I was truly filled with the holiday spirit. At only 3 months, I wasn't really even showing. I was craving beef jerky and kale. We were running the 4-Christmas Marathon. Mom's-dad's-mom's-dad's. Exhausted and ecstatic. I would do it all again.

But we will stay home this year, after all. I will cuddle the kitties. I will cry. No tree. No gifts. Without you here there doesn't seem like much to celebrate.

There is no denying this pain. There is no denying this emptiness. I can't hide it and I won't.

Some days I feel so blessed to be surrounded with such amazing love and support. Other days I just want to sulk in the unfairness of it all. I dont usually comment on the fairness of certain life experiences, but there is really no other way to sum this all up. It is just so unfair. So wrong.

And yet we must continue on. I am seeing a counselor. I am going to support groups. I longed to speak with others who know how I feel. I have made some treasured new friends through our loss. I am so happy to have met them and so sad to have met this way.

Our friends and family have definitely shown their true colors. The ones that matter have been there through the thick of it to hold us up. It is so hard to watch how difficult this is for everyone else. I can see their pain and their own grief which is excrutiating enough. But then it is so difficult for most to express their emotions. This is an emotional path. We cannot deny it. We must feel this. We must talk about this. We must honor our children.

My dear son, You are my light. You are my hope. I see your graces everywhere.

I love you my sweet little boy. Avery Malcolm Whitlow. I remember you forever.