4 months

in a few hours it will be four months since i pushed little sun into the world…a world he knew for 36 short hours, a world that held more pain than comfort for him, a world that no longer includes him..

i’m not okay.

i feel completely lost, and i don’t even know what to hold onto anymore.

Things fall apart; the center cannot hold

today i found out that i have high bp and will probably need meds for it.  the cardiologist is doing an ultrasound on my heart tuesday and i have a stress test on wednesday.  she said she thinks it’s stress.  what in the world do i have to be stressed out about?

this is one of the last ultrasounds i had:

throwing devils horns or ASL for "i love you"?

devils horns or ASL for “i love you”?

the doctor (because doctors do ultrasounds in France) laughed and then took this picture to show us how little sun was “smelling his foot”. his nose and chubby cheeks look like they were pressed flat on the glass of a photocopier.  one of my friends said he looked “Dali-esque”, and i thought, yes…my son would have a penchant for the surreal.

now it’s life that is surreal.  now it’s my heart, not my son that i’ll be seeing on that screen.  nothing to make me smile or dream.  just my own battered heart.  still beating inexplicably.


9 thoughts on “4 months

  1. Suzanne Bates Gould

    It doesn’t make sense to me that my heart kept beating, but it did. Sometimes it felt like a betrayal. Sometimes it still does. Nathaniel died in July 2011. Four months is still so new with this shattered heart. The rawness and the sharpness does go away, but it does surface from time to time.

    Stress – yes. This grief is so, so stressful. I wish that I could give you some advice about how to ease the stress. It seems like everyone has their own way. Some people exercise and say that it helps. Other people drink. Neither of these has been particularly helpful for me. I took up drawing, and then painting, and that has saved my life.

    Be gentle with yourself every day. I’m so sorry about your sun. I miss him with you.

    1. le petit soleil Post author

      it’s strange how sometimes it feels as if i’ve built up scar tissue, and i can go through hours and even whole chunks of days without it hitting me, but then i see the mamans with their prams at the playground or i hear a baby crying or a certain song comes on, and the grief sucker punches me in the gut. walking helps, music helps (even if it often makes me cry), connecting with other babylost parents who understand helps, and when i get myself into the right place, art helps. sometimes my brain just feels too fuzzy and my arms too heavy for me to be able to break out the pens or the brushes. what you wrote has made me realize, though, that i must get back to cathartic and calming act of creating.
      thank you for that. <3

  2. March is for daffodils

    Four months was very hard for me. It is just such an awful, shitty, shitty, awful reality. That ultrasound picture is so wonderful: I’m so glad you have it, though it breaks my heart to think that perfect nose, those perfect lips, hands and feet belong to a boy who died, who should be here but isn’t. I’m so sorry.

    1. le petit soleil Post author

      does the awful, shitty, shitty, awful reality ever get any better…any easier? it breaks my heart, too, that he’s not here, but i still smile when i see that ultrasound. April, too, is for daffodils in Paris…i came across a slew of them in the park. somehow they made me feel hopeful. thanks for reading and commenting <3


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