His New Life

Sometimes, when I think about Gabriel's soul in Heaven, I reminisce about my years spent at college and I like to imagine that Gabriel is so happy and too busy living a new adventure, to miss us here on earth. 

During my first few weeks at college, I remember feeling so excited to be on my own. The possibilities were endless... an adventure in its earliest stages anxious to be unfolded further. College was a new life for me, and I couldn't wait to live it. To me, it was the sweet taste of freedom and independence and the opportunity to become anyone I wanted to be.

I didn't realize it then, but looking back, I'm sure my parents missed seeing me everyday, (though they often teased that they were happy to have me out of the house). It didn't really occur to me back then, but now I wonder how many times my mom worried about me whenever I took a few days too long to return her phone calls. Even though I was perfectly okay, I'm sure it was hard for my parents to go weeks without seeing me, if only because they needed reassurance that I was eating enough and hadn't done anything stupid like dye my hair pink or break my arm. 

But like most teenagers, other people weren't my biggest concern. I loved my parents, but returning their phone calls and making regular trips home wasn't on the top of my priorities list. I wanted to hang out with my friends, make new ones, stay up til 2 in the morning and eat Lucky Charms for dinner. It's not that I didn't love my parents, and it's not that I forgot about them or stopped appreciating all they had done for me. It's just simply, how do you miss your old life when your current life feels perfectly complete and is just so much better?

I wish more than anything that I could worry about Gabriel going off to college and miss him while he's just a few hundred miles away. But since he can't be here, I like to imagine that he is up in Heaven fully enjoying his new life, making new friends, dancing, laughing, playing, and running around without a care in the world. That he's so busy having fun that he doesn't even have the chance to ponder whether he misses us here on earth. But in the same way that I loved my parents despite the separation, despite the joy I was experiencing, I hope that he too loves us. I hope he has the understanding of where he came from and that he knows that I love him unconditionally. I hope in some small way he remembers his brief life inside my womb and I hope the bond we formed is a memory he treasures. But I also hope that he, like every child off on a new adventure, is so enthralled and happy that he's incapable of longing for anything except for more of the incredible life he has in Heaven.

Do you believe in MOM?

One of my friends posted this little apologue on Facebook the other day and I wanted to share it with those of you who have never read it.

I've copied the original version for those of you who can read Italian, and I've also translated it in English below...

Nel ventre di una donna incinta si trovavano due bebè. Uno di loro chiese all'altro:
- Tu credi nella vita dopo il parto?
- Certo. Qualcosa deve esserci dopo il parto. Forse siamo qui per prepararci per quello saremo più tardi.
- Sciocchezze! Non c'è una vita dopo il parto. Come sarebbe quella vita?
- Non lo so, ma sicuramente... ci sarà più luce che qua. Magari cammineremo con le nostre
gambe e ci ciberemo dalla bocca.
- Ma è assurdo! Camminare è impossibile. E mangiare dalla bocca? Ridicolo! Il cordone ombelicale è la via d'alimentazione... Ti dico una cosa: la vita dopo il parto è da escludere. Il cordone ombelicale è troppo corto.
- Invece io credo che debba esserci qualcosa. E forse sarà diverso da quello cui siamo abituati ad avere qui.
- Però nessuno è tornato dall'aldilà, dopo il parto. Il parto è la fine della vita. E in fin dei conti, la vita non è altro che un'angosciante esistenza nel buio che ci porta al nulla.
- Beh, io non so esattamente come sarà dopo il parto, ma sicuramente vedremo la MAMMA e lei si prenderà cura di noi.
- MAMMA? Tu credi nella MAMMA? E dove credi che sia lei ora?
- Dove? Tutto intorno a noi! E' in lei e grazie a lei che viviamo. Senza di lei tutto questo mondo non esisterebbe.
- Eppure io non ci credo! Non ho mai visto la MAMMA, per cui, è logico che non esista.
- Ok, ma a volte, quando siamo in silenzio, si riesce a sentirla o percepire come accarezza il nostro mondo. Sai?... Io penso che ci sia una vita reale che ci aspetta e che ora soltanto stiamo preparandoci per essa...


In the belly of a pregnant woman, there were two babies. One of them asked the other:
-Do you believe in life after birth?
-Of course. Something must be after birth. Maybe we're here to prepare for what will occur later.
-Nonsense! There is no life after birth. What would that life be like?
-I don't know, but certainly, there will be more light than here. Maybe we will walk with our legs and will eat with our mouths.
-But that's absurd! Walking is impossible. And eating with our mouths? Ridiculous! The umbilical cord is the way to eat... I'll tell you one thing... life after birth is out of the question. The umbilical cord is too short.
-Instead I believe there has to be something. And maybe it will be different from what we're used to in here.
-But no one has ever returned from the afterlife, after being born. Birth is the end of life. And ultimately, life is nothing but a distressing existence in the dark that leads us nowhere.
-Well, I don't know exactly how it will be after birth, but surely we'll see MOM and she will take care of us.
-MOM? You believe in MOM? And where do you believe that she is now?
-Where? All around us! We're inside her and it's thanks to her that we're alive. Without her, this whole world would not exist.
-I still don't believe it! I've never seen MOM, so it only makes sense that she doesn't exist.
-Okay, but sometimes, when we're silent, you can hear her or feel that she is caressing our world. You know?... I think there is a real life that awaits us, and that we are only now preparing for it...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This analogy of birth and death reminds me that even though we can't see God or even begin to understand what Heaven is like, that doesn't mean They don't exist. Of course nobody knows for sure, but I like to imagine that God is out there somewhere laughing to Himself when we say things like, "Where is God? I don't see Him so how can He exist?" and that are children are in Heaven patiently and joyfully awaiting our "births."

Leaving 2012

I am both eager and sorry to be leaving 2012.

It is with hope but also with a very heavy heart that I stand at the edge of 2012 and gaze outward towards a new year. I look forward to the unknown opportunities that lay ahead, but at the same time 2013 feels so daunting. Out there in the abyss of the future, I anticipate all that the new year expects of me and at my core, I feel so distressed. The pressure to make this new year a better one is overwhelming and I can't help but worry that more disappointments await me in 2013. I don't know if I have the strength to endure another year of loss and pain, and I'm not prepared to face any more hardship.

2012 has been the most devastating year of my life, but also the most extraordinary and easily the most life-changing. It's the year Gabriel was here with me, but also the year he was taken.

There is so much I wish I could go back and change about this past year, and I hope that there are cleansing waters in the new year that will wash away some of these feelings of regret and guilt.

In 2012, I became pregnant for the first time. I became a mother and my husband became a father. The first 6 1/2 months of 2012 were a sacred gift. I look back upon those days with more joy than words can adequately describe. The last 5 1/2 months were the most difficult and possibly the darkest of my life. We spent those days letting go of our son, remembering him in every way we could think of, and treasuring the memories we have of him. In so many ways, the last 5 1/2 months are just as meaningful as the first 6 1/2. Now that they're over, I'm sad to be walking away from all 12 months.

In 2013, I would love to become pregnant again. But of course I fear another loss and I worry that a healthy baby is not part of God's plan for us. I fear failure. I fear death. I fear that we will not be blessed and that the stork will fly past our home. I fear what will happen to my heart if that were to happen. And I want. I want another baby. I want to hold and nourish a brand new life. I want to feel those precious and beautiful kicks. But mostly, I hope. I hope that 2013 will be a year I can always look back on as the year we were blessed with a healthy baby. I hope that 2013 is a happy year. I hope.

I look back over the past year and I can't help but feel like my life stood still for an entire year. I don't see any progress, any accomplishments, any goals attained. I turned 30 in 2012 and I hate that I am nowhere near where I thought I would be at the age of 30. I thought I would have more (living) children by now. I thought I would be in the middle of a career, instead of at the end of one and the beginning of another. I thought 30 would be a good year, an easy year, a simple, normal, average year. Instead, I've learned that it's not enough to think, to expect, to want, to plan. Life is a giant curve ball. There is so little we have control over. And that is the lesson I have learned in 2012.

In 2013, I will be taking the first steps towards the above-mentioned new career. I am plenty motivated, but have so many deep-seated worries and part of me doesn't believe I can achieve what I've set out to do. I'm not sure why I have these doubts, but I pray that in time, they will be replaced with courage and some kind of understanding that I have made the right choice. I hope that this new career helps me to heal and that it forever serves to remind me of who I have become because Gabriel was once here. I trust that the Lord will help me realize this dream and that he has placed it on my heart with good reason.

In 2013, I see the potential for so many wonderful things and my heart is filled with faith. I am grateful that God has allowed us another year. I know it is a gift.

But still, how can I not be sad to leave my sweet little baby behind in 2012. This was his year and it pains me to see it end. I worry that as time ticks on, the world will forget him and that my memories will slowly fade. They're all I have left of him and I can't bear the thought of even them being stolen from me. I pray that I will never ever forget the details and moments that made 2012 so special.

I wish I could stay here a little longer. Reflect and soak in the past year for a few more days. Can't I just linger here in the transition from the year I had with Gabriel and the year that offers new hope and new life? Can't I stand with one foot firmly planted in 2012 and the other hesitantly hovering over the cusp of 2013? Can't time just stop and give those of us who lost our precious children in 2012 a little more time to remain behind?

Because I'm not sure that I'm quite ready to leave yet.


~Remembering Gabriel and all the babies who left this world in 2012. The past may hold the days they were here with us, but the future holds the eternity that we will spend with them in Heaven.~

 

Happiness

Ever since Gabriel died, everything good that's happened has been tinged with an element of sadness. There are no more happy moments... there is only bittersweet. I have experienced happiness, but every time I laugh or smile, deep down I am shedding a tear because Gabriel is not laughing and smiling with me. He should be, but he's not here and even if his life in Heaven is nothing but joyous, I'm not a part of it. And really, what is the point of happiness if you can't share it with the people you love? It's just not the same.

My happiness is no longer pure. It's complicated. It can't even exist without its emotional counterparts: guilt, sorrow, and grief. Happiness no longer fills me up. Instead I feel even more empty if that's even possible. When I laugh, I can't help but be reminded of all of the things that Gabriel is missing out on. He'll never laugh at a funny joke, or smile at a pretty girl. He'll never do that cute baby squeal thing when someone tickles his tummy. He'll never jump for joy or fall out of his seat laughing. He will never know what earthly happiness feels like.

I think as a mother the one thing you always hope is that your children will be happy. It doesn't matter if they have successful jobs or win awards... just as long as they're happy.

I'm so heartbroken that I can't give Gabriel the life of happiness that he should have had. There is just so much I want for him. I don't know if there will ever be a time when I experience a moment of joy without wishing that Gabriel was with me. I don't know if I'll ever truly be able to let go of the guilt that often overshadows the happiness. I suppose the best I can do now is live my life the way I wish Gabriel could have lived his... constantly in search of happiness and always hopeful that the best is yet to come..

A Time to Every Purpose Under Heaven

Today is September 19th, 2012.

For the rest of the world, this date is insignificant... just another day.

But for me, this day has many meanings.

It is my son's 2 month birthday... in Heaven.

It is a day that represents how much time has elapsed since my son died.

It is a day that came too soon.

A day that should never have existed, and yet here it is.

Proof that my son is gone.

That he has been gone for 2 whole months.

2 months ago I met my son, held him, fell deeply in love with him, kissed his little toes and ran my fingers over his soft skin.

2 months ago I said good-bye to my son, felt his body leave my arms, and envisioned his soul being returned to his Creator.

Today I'll light a candle for him. I'll go to church and pray for him. I'll sit by his angel urn and whisper to him. I'll cry because I miss him. I'll mourn his loss and celebrate his life.

I'll do all the things that mamas with babies in Heaven do.

Because 2 months ago I became a mother. My baby isn't sleeping in a crib nearby. He's not outgrowing his newborn clothes. He's not rolling over for the first time. He's not here.

I'm a mother of a 2 month old baby. He doesn't sleep, grow or reach milestones.

But he sings, dances and thrives at the feet of his Heavenly Father. The One who gave him life and graced him with eternal glory.

It's been a blessed 2 months for my sweet boy.

And that's all that matters today.

A Wonderful Day

Today is a wonderful day.

It's my dad's 60th birthday, a day that our family is truly lucky and blessed to celebrate.

This morning I woke up early and went to the beach so I could take pictures of the beginning of this day. A day that will always mean so much to me.

I wrote Gabriel's name in the wet sand. And thought how perfect this day would be if only he were still here with us.

My due date is not until next month. If Gabriel didn't get sick, I'd still be pregnant... blissfully pregnant. I'd be walking around daydreaming of motherhood. Proud and delighted to be carrying the person who would turn my dad into a grandfather for the first time. I imagined myself picking out a onesie printed with the words "My grandpa loves me!" and buying my dad one of those mugs that says "World's Greatest Grandpa."

But instead, I wrote Gabriel's name in the sand in his memory. In sacred remembrance of his brief life here on earth... all 29 weeks and 1 day of it.

Gabriel will never celebrate his 60th birthday. He'll never be a dad. He'll never cherish a day so much that it warrants waking up at 5 a.m. to watch it begin.

I'm starting to realize that the "Gabriel will never" list is neverending.

More than anything, I wish that I could trade all the rest of my days so that he could just have one. One day to watch the sun rise, to celebrate a beloved birthday, to feel the sand between his toes, to watch pelicans soar above the ocean waves, to laugh and cry, to experience this crazy, extraordinary thing we call life.

Today is a wonderful day.

Twinkle of Light

A few days after Gabriel died, I came across a picture taken of outer space by a NASA satellite. It occurred to me that the majority of the stars in the universe are no longer alive, but in fact they burned out thousands or millions of years ago. What we see here on earth is a remnant of a bright star that no longer exists. That twinkle in the night sky is merely a reminder that a star once burned gloriously, evidence of a once radiant and energetic life. But because that star's life was once so bright, its light continues to shine millions of years later. 

And I realized, that is what Gabriel is to me now. He is a beautiful twinkle of light shining brightly amongst all the darkness. His light which I hold in my heart, is proof that he once existed here on earth, and that the brightness of his life will radiate long after his death. Though his star no longer burns, I can still see him, I can feel his presence, and enjoy his warm light. I can gaze into that shadow of darkness that represents his death, and find the twinkle of light he left behind. Gabriel is not just a memory, nor a figment of a life... he is a constant force here on earth, a stream of never-ending light.

I like to believe that every time a child dies, God adds another star to the night sky. And that somewhere among the billions of twinkles, lies a special flickering glow that represents Gabriel, and another one that represents your baby. Though logic and science don't agree with this theory, it's nice to imagine our babies somewhere out there, forever adding light to the darkness.