Sometimes, when I look back on that day and the days that followed, I feel this incredible sadness. Not only for you and what you went through, not for the fact that you died and being without you, but also for my own life, my own heart, for Chris' life. The pain, hurt, loss and heartbreak during the month before you died, your death, and the time afterwards, is just so horrifying that this happened. And to me, my son, my husband.
I tell myself that there are much worse things that happen to millions of people every day. When I compare our situation to all the suffering around us, we have so much to be grateful for - the love and support we received from family and friends, the knowledge that you knew nothing but love from those around you, and that you died peacefully. I try not to get weighed down feeling sorry for myself that such a terrible thing happened to my first child. But I don't deny that pain. To deny it would minimize or take away from the joy and happiness that you brought us for almost 8 months. The fact that other people suffer does not take away what we went through. I allow myself to feel compassion and sadness of your loss. That my heart can break, over and over again, and still continue to beat, to have the capacity to love, is amazing.
“If you're really listening, if you're awake to the poignant beauty of the world, your heart breaks regularly. In fact, your heart is made to break; its purpose is to burst open again and again so that it can hold evermore wonders.” - Andrew Harvey
I worry about my grief sometimes, I try to push it aside, bury it beneath busy days, distractions, responsibilities. But, somehow, the grief finds it way to the surface. If not acknowledged, it will fester and enter the dark places of my heart. Slowly, I am finding ways to recognize my grief and be comfortable with how it changes. There hasn't been a day that I don't think about you, and I am comforted knowing that you are always with me. I am thankful that you are our little angel.
I miss you, Nico.