Wednesday, November 2, 2011
What would he have been dressed as? I really don't know for certain. What I do know is that I would have loved to have had two baby pumpkins to lug around on Halloween. I look at her and wonder what he'd be like, who he'd look like, and how they'd interact with one another. My heart is so full of love for both of them yet so broken and full of missing him. I didn't expect this holiday to hit me so freaking hard, but it did. It's not like I had the twins' costumes all planned out and coordinated with one another; I wasn't that kind of twin mama. I wanted to celebrate them as separate individuals as much as possible and maybe would have done some cutesy stuff like that once or twice, but not much beyond. But then, obviously, it isn't about the costumes. Or loss of being able to dress up both of my babies together, coordinating costumes or not. It's about the loss of a HUMAN BEING. The loss of my son. His first Halloween - what a stupid silly trivial loss in the big scheme of things. But the whole of the loss of him, the entirety of it, is just too much to process at once. So I focus on one thing at a time, and I mourn that thing. And this Halloween, I mourned the loss of purchasing his costume, dressing him up, and taking him door to door. My husband and I should have both had a baby in our arms instead of taking turns with one. We should have had people oooohing and ahhhhhing over our twins. A good friend of mine brought her husband and daughter over (she was born three days after our twins), and at each house we trick or treated at, I kept worrying that the people would think they were both mine. Or that we would see confused expressions. But since there were clearly four adults and two babies, it didn't cause any confusion. I was relieved but also a little sad to think there couldn't possibly be anybody who may have thought they were both mine, remembering I had been pregnant with two. I wondered if people forget so quickly. But then, anyone who knew were were having two also knew he had died. So I don't know why that was even on my radar. Once back at home, we turned the porch light on to let kids outside know we had candy to give out. After all, we couldn't keep our girls out long. It was chilly and nearing bed time. I thought about how lucky we were to know this couple. I thought about how at LEAST Evelyn would have a same-aged friend to play with at times. I thought about how much more difficult it would have been to trick or treat without this couple and their little girl and how without them there I would have felt the holiday anti-climactic and perhaps even lonely. Suddenly, a little boy stumbled up the stoop, peered inside our screen door, saw the girls crawling around, and said, "Wow! Two babies!" I felt my heart stop. "You have TWO babies? You have a LOT of children!" He was maybe six years old. He had no idea he was tearing the heart out of my chest and ripping it in half. I couldn't say anything. I just threw a piece of candy in his bag and didn't even look at him. I gave him an extra piece even, as if that would make him go away faster. If the word "twins" had come out of his mouth, I would have lost it right that second. I waited for it, having a mini panic attack of sorts. If he had said that word, I would have been a blubbering mess, crying all over innocent children's candy. Somehow, it didn't. When I went to bed that night, I just couldn't stop crying. Sobbing. My husband was already fast asleep, and there I was, shaking the bed with my sobs. (He's a very heavy sleeper.) I finally just got out of bed and took a shower. Somehow, that had a calming effect, and I was able to fall asleep after. But oh, the longing was so strong. I felt like I was going to die, and I don't mean that as an exaggeration. In those intense moments of grief, it feels like it will never get better, the pain will never subside, the air will never be easy to breathe, your heart will never feel light and free, and joy will never return. Suddenly, it seems so reasonable that people die of a broken heart, and I just wait for mine to stop working, but for some reason it keeps beating. "Help, I'm alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer." ~Metric Happy 1st Halloween, baby boy. Oh, how I miss you. I carved this pumpkin just for you. I wanted to carve one for you, because this would have been your first Halloween, and you are still a part of our family. You will always be a part of our family. A butterfly pumpkin for my precious son Elias. It's not enough, and that breaks my heart, too. Nothing is never enough. Nothing can ever be enough for me to feel I am honoring you properly. I want to go back and save you. Anything short of that just isn't good enough. I love you, to the moon and back, my forever baby, my son.