Sixteen years ago I was anxiously awaiting my first child. Unsure if it was a boy or a girl, I could care less. Each morning I awoke to the bassinet next to my bed, carefully made up for my newborn child. Hardly able to believe that a tiny child would be occupying that space, I wistfully stared at it and rubbed my belly. Consciously grateful and aware, now, that some parents never experience that miracle, that thought was only a fear and I didn’t truly believe it would ever be a reality.
The night I found out I was pregnant with Christian, I was unable to sleep. I wasn’t even able to close my eyes. Electric excitement coursed through me and I spent the night imagining the life that was growing inside me and what would unfold for it over the years. There was never any question in my mind that I wanted to be a mother. At one time I even wanted five children. Christian changed my mind on that!
We didn’t share our pregnancy news with anyone, except family, until we reached 12 weeks. Always a strong believer in signs and synchronicities, the fact that my 12 weeks landed on my wedding anniversary only heightened my joy. Coupled with my due date on Christmas Day, the blessings were abundant.
It was the year I was pregnant with Christian that I learned my own birthday was exactly six weeks to Christmas. Never before was I aware of that, but now that my entire life revolved around my growing belly, the countdown was expertly marked. Dutifully reading each week’s update in my book about how big the baby was and what developments he or she made, kept me completely attuned to all the changes happening.
As the world celebrated the holiday season, I did too, only even more intensely. Every feeling of joy was heightened. Lights were brighter, holiday songs sounded even more melodic and my heart was bursting with love.
The most angelic looking boy, albeit with a conehead, arrived bright and early on the morning of December 23rd. My world would never be the same. I was exhausted, but once again, could not close my eyes. The excitement poured out of me. It was impossible to imagine just how much love could fit into my heart for this tiny boy.
On Christmas morning, the nurses brought Christian to us in a stocking. We still hang it every year. Later that day, he arrived home. Without a doubt, he is the best Christmas gift I have ever received.
Just six and a half short years after I exited that hospital on Christmas Day, with my firstborn snuggled safely in his car seat, I left the same hospital without him. That isn’t supposed to happen to anyone. I walked down the aisle on my wedding day and then walked down the same aisle on my son’s funeral day, 10 years later.
Now, as his 16th birthday approaches, my heart is unsure of what to do with all of the emotion. Helping others through Love From Heaven has been a gift. It has allowed me to connect with others in the same way I needed connection. It helps me to remember that I am not alone. Others also experience this heartache.
It just doesn’t seem real. Left to wonder who he would be, what life would be like and how this could have happened, tears have been leaking from eyes and heart. I know the pain will soften again. It won’t go away. I don’t want it to, but it will soften.
We’ve learned how to live in this new world that doesn’t include Christian in the flesh. Most of the time the pain is tempered enough to allow us to live and function. This was impossible when he first died.
Christian’s there in everything we do and I’ve learned to find the joy in that. The milestones, though, bring me back to the searing pain. I’m far enough along to know it won’t last forever, but in the moment of pain, it’s just as raw as the final goodbye.
Every single day of my life will include thoughts and connections with Christian. Even that is unfathomable. As my kids get older and we get farther away from the age Christian lived to, it’s scary. I won’t be able to relate any of his living years to their current lives. I wonder what it will look like as we continue to age. It’s a privilege that I took for granted for so many years.
I will never stop sharing my memories, his spirit or his legacy with others. As long as I am living, he will be too, in spirit.
Sixteen years later as a mother looks very different from what I thought it would. Grateful, as always, to have had the time I did with him. Grateful for my living children and husband. Grateful for all the support we continuously receive. Grateful and devastated. Forever missing him. Forever wondering. Forever loving him.