March 22, 2011 is one for the history books.
Today was tough.
Losing a child is so hard.
So painful. So..... empty.
Watching your child suffer this loss is nearly unbearable.
I have never been able to verbalize my thoughts on early infant loss versus miscarriage due to lack of personal experience.
(And I still have no direct personal experience with miscarriage, as in, I've never actually had one. Does a grandchild count?)
Infant loss, I do know.
I held my baby.
I saw that he was a boy.
I gazed into his dark blue eyes.
I smelled that new baby smell that is irresistible and unforgettable and universal....
(He has a name....Clint...)
I never had to wonder if he had my nose or his daddy's eyes.
I never had to wonder if he was a new baby son or a new baby daughter. I knew.
He has a name. He has a memorial headstone.
After eighteen years...
...he still has a name.
I would trade places if I could. I would take her pain, her questions, her uncertainty, her emptiness...
I would spare her these feelings in a New York minute, even though the ignorance would surely drive me mad.
But, I can't.
And that's all I have to say about that.