Sometimes I am caught so off gaurd. I think of Koen every day. He is always in my heart, but does not consume my thoughts all day. I make an effort to live in the present. I feel that I can best honor his life by being a good mom to his brothers and wife to his dad. When I think of Koen on a daily basis, it is no longer the horror film reel that once played on a constant loop, consuming me. Now it just moments, filled with love and longing, but mostly love. There is a peace. It's good. But sometimes, my memories of him are triggered by something.
I went to my township building to fulfill my civic and patriotic duty by voting today. There was a man there working on fixing the ballot machine. I kept staring at him, trying to place his face. It wasn't until I left the building that occurred to me. He was the man who we met at the cemetery just days after Koen's death (Sometimes I write death and sometimes I write birth, often unsure what word to use, because for him they are one in the same). This man walked me to so many different patches of grass because I couldn't decide where I wanted to bury my baby's body. I had planned out Koen's nursery with great care, I didn't want his resting place to be chosen in haste. Mommy wanted it to be perfect. This man patiently appeased me, showing me all our options, until I was confident that, yes, in fact the very first plot would be Koen's final resting place on this earth.
I was able to leave the township building without tears, but my memories rushing quickly into my constant thoughts. I had to run a quick errand and when I went to checkout I recognized the woman in front of me. Sometimes I get blasted by more than one trigger in one day, in one hour. This woman was a nurse. A nurse who was called in to make one of the many attempts to get my IV started between my contractions when I was laboring with Koen, just minutes after learning that he was dead and that I would have to deliver his precious lifeless body. She was the nurse who discharged me from the labor and delivery floor the next day, sending us home without a baby.
Sometimes there isn't peace. Sometimes the triggers are too much. Sometimes the longing and pain outweighs all else.
I was given a gift this morning. A special moment at Hackett's school where he was practicing reading a story he wrote on stage with his classmates. Tobin in my arms and watching Hackett beam with pride, my heart was spilling over. I soaked in the many hugs Hackett gave me in front of his classmates, realizing those days are soon coming to an end. Sometimes God gives me awareness of memories to cling to knowing what the rest of the day holds for me. Sometimes my love and peace is then able to return more quickly. I know all the time, not just sometimes, my God remains.