Making Room for Joy

Since Mikayla died and was born, I can count on one hand the moments I have felt truly happy without a cloud of fear or anxiety or sadness clouding the moment.

Today, I was given one of those moments.

I was putting June Bug to bed with our nightly routine: shower, pjs, brush teeth, drink of water, bedtime story, prayers, hugs and kisses, and lights out. We were snuggled on the bed together and I was reading a chapter of Betsy-Tacy  - a book I enjoyed as a child - on our tablet. I was holding the tablet resting its end on my lower belly, when I felt it. Baby was kicking! Baby was kicking at the tablet!

Now I have felt things that I thought might have been baby earlier on, and the other day I felt a few distinct flutters that I knew had to be baby, but this was different - vibrant, strong movements without a shadow of a doubt caused by little arms and legs exploring this thing that was pressed up against their home. I told June Bug about it, and we both enjoyed some giggles at the thought.

It was only later, when I had finished the chapter, said our prayers, and turned off the light that I realized how pure a moment of joy it had been. I was also able to remember feeling Mikayla kick at June Bug's musical teddy bear without the overwhelming feeling of acute grief, but rather a fond memory with just a hint of sadness.

I know there will still be days of weeping and pain. I know it will still be a long journey, but I do feel like I have turned a corner somehow. Like I have crawled far enough down the tunnel that I can actually see a glimpse of the brilliant light waiting for me up ahead.  

I am learning to make room for joy again. And it feels good.

Day 30: First

Day 30 of 31 days of healing. Joining Kate for a 5--minute free-write on the word FIRST

GO:

I have a calendar of June Bug's first year. It is full of colorful stickers of her "firsts." First car ride, first smile, first tooth, first words, first steps. All the way up to first birthday.

This year we celebrated her first day of Kindergarten, first ride on a 2-wheeler, her first book she read by herself, and soon probably the first loose tooth.

There's no sticker for the first breathe. No sticker for first cries, or first movements - those frantic flailings of arms and legs exposed to air instead of amniotic fluid for the first time. No. Those are so taken for granted, they don't even warrant marking.

There are also no stickers for first heaven day, or "crap-versary" as one loss Mama put it. No stickers for the first time someone asks you how many kids you have and you just stare at them and tear up as you debate whether to go into details or just lie.

And even in June Bug's case, there are no stickers for the day you found out your long-awaited and prayed for baby sister went to heaven instead of coming to play with you like everyone said she would.

And so we make our own way. We mark our own days. We make prayer flags in August and light candles in October, and will celebrate Heaven days in April and September. We will forge ahead making memories wherever and however we can, to honor our love for our babies.