It was the first time in several weeks that I'd forgotten. The first time in quite awhile that it hit me like a ton of bricks in my belly that he was always going to be quiet. Always.
It was dark when I arrived home, and I just couldnt convince myself to walk back to his graveside and say hello. I buried him there to have constant contact with him, but it is so much easier said than done. Visiting is hard. It brings back all the pain of watching him be buried.
I want to think of him more often, but I usually find myself shaking my head back and forth so that I don't visualize the images I dont want to see. Almost every day I think of those moments walking him into the hospital, and there was a woman there as I crouched down on my knees who held me and cried with me. I remember her face, her smell, and can still hear the sound of her voice trying to comfort me in he worst time. Thank you mystery lady, whoever you are.
Things have been good. The twins are progressing well, and there have been no problems. We are getting the nursery set up, and I'm finally getting excited and attached to these babies. I'm fearful of what will happen after they are born, and if I will ever be able to sleep again, but for now, Im trying to let that be something I just don't stress about.
I remembered this, that I saw on a friend's facebook last year:
A wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan. But, there is no word for a parent who loses a child.