December 9th is the anniversary of the birth of our second son, Emmett, who did not survive the birth. He was 8 inches, 8 oz, and beautiful. Some years I've felt overcome with grief. Not this year. This year I want to laugh and cry all at the same time. He feels closer than ever, more mine than ever, more our child than ever. He would have been 6 this year.
Max was three and a half when we lost the baby. Old enough to grasp what was going on, not old enough to understand. For reasons only understandable by Max, he took an interest in the brother he lost this year. On more than one occasion he said to me, "If my brother had lived, we could have done _____ together." I never knew what the right answer to that was. Was he saying this because he sensed that it was important to me that Emmett be remembered? Or was it just the wistful voice of the-brother-that-has-no-twin? I don't know. I don't encourage the comments, but I always find something to say at the time. It's been a few months. I won't mention it to him tomorrow. Tomorrow will be filled with sledding and snow throwing and the giddiness of a true snow day (at least if the weather reports are to be believed) as we are getting 6 to 8 inches over night and apparently our street is one of "THE" streets to sled on. I don't expect to feel Emmett's presence any more than usual. I've been blessed to have truly wonderful sons and I feel deeply that Emmett was no different. He is often with me. A great comfort to me, his mother.
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1 comment:
I was going to say pretty much what Eliza said. What a joyous reunion you will have someday!
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