Audacity: "When my children were born, I said to God 'If you're going to take my children from me, take them from me now, before I have a chance to know them and love them and miss them."
I had to do a double take, and take into account that Caroline had been doubling up on the booze all afternoon. The human ability to say stupid things when they have been drinking is astounding, offensive, and never ending.
It's hard to explain what it's like to miss someone who was only here for 40 weeks and ten days. But just like with anyone else, what you notice most is the empty space.
Missing Gabriel means filling in spaces with "What ifs?" It means tears roll silently down my face while watching "Where the Wild Things Are" as I miss my little wild thing and wonder where he is and what he's doing. It means I go to church, to a restaurant, to work, and wonder what my life would be like if he were here too.
This Thanksgiving the unavoidable smell of turkey crashed into my nostrils, my senses, every time it was near me with a welcomed wave of nauseousness. The smell of turkey was the one smell that got to me during pregnancy and to smell it now, to smell the memory it holds, was bittersweetly longed for. There are moments when I look at the shell of the life I live now, hollow where my family should be, and wonder if it was real. How can I even be sure it was? What happens when the tremors in my tummy stop and the scent of Gabriel's blankets gets sniffed away and ten days feel like just a moment in a lifetime of moments that have long since slipped through my fingers and I am still alone with memories and ghosts?
That fear is unshakeable. That fear dictates what I do and is the root of the biggest mistakes that I make, but it is the most vital part of me as it leads my heart around, grasping and fumbling for something to fill the empty spaces.