This memory popped up today. I didn't post until a little after midnight about Koen's sudden and shocking arrival. Kevin was laying on a cot, after not being able to eat or drink all day I was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and sipping on a slurpee that my nurse went out to get for me after I requested one during delivery. As I sat in my hospital bed I had to focus on chewing, consciously moving my jar up and down. I was in such a state of shock. My baby who I thought was safe that morning, was now at the funeral home cold and alone. My time with Koen was gone, it slipped through my fingers in just a day. We had given word to some friends and family via text, but I wanted inform our world of friends and family. I didn't want his life to disappear, I wanted his tragically brief life to be acknowledged and remembered.
This weekend we are camping with friends, because even though I am on the verge of tears during this week, life goes on, as it should. While Kevin is off with the big kids I am watching this angel, gift, and miracle sleep.
Yesterday, before we left, we went to pick out balloons to send to Koen for his birthday. Tobin picked an owl that said "look who's graduating", Hackett a balloon covered with sports balls, and from mom and dad a white heart. We went to his gravesite where his tiny little body is laid to rest and let them go, and they floated up to the heavens just as quickly as Koen did three years ago.
I am away from home, good wifi and my laptop, and am having trouble uploading pictures to my blog that I reference, so I will add them in the comments below and fix in a few days.
The memory is my announcement of Koen's birth and death.
As I rocked Tobin on Sunday night, he was in tears and so was I. I didn't know that he would chew the tip off of one of his beloved wubbies (pacifiers) during the night on Saturday. I had no warning that I would not be able to snuggle up my baby anymore, that he would catapult into toddler-hood in one night. He was sobbing in shock with the disappearance of his wubs, and tears fell down my face in the shock of the disappearance of my baby. Not only has my baby disappeared but also my ability to make everything better. For Tobin, the combination of mom and a wubby, healed all. One of the very hardest things as a mom is to see your child broken in sorrow and not have the ability to fix it.
I am Jackie.