It's almost one o'clock on the morning. I'm glad I haven't actually made my resolutions yet or I would have already broken them: go easy on the sugar, go heavy on the sleep.
I've been thinking about Nicholas a lot lately. And crying. We passed the cemetery where he's buried and I said to Paul and Ceci, who were my only passengers that day, "this is our cemetery, guys. St. Nicholas, pray for us!" But then when they started talking and asking questions, as I knew they would, as they always do, I just couldn't keep it together. Thankfully they were buckled snugly in two rows behind me and were easily distracted by the mention of....something. I don't know, but I changed the subject as quickly as I could so I could swallow the lump in my throat.
As I lay nursing sweet Charlie the other evening, I sobbed. Huge, terrible, wracking sobs, because my boys would never get to play together here on Earth. I'm crying again now just sharing this with you.
Last night Paul brought me The Legend of St. Nicholas for his bedtime story. Easily talk of St. Nicholas of Myra turned into chatter about our own St. Nicholas, and their innocent voices chirping in their sweet way, Cecilia saying this, Paul asking that, someone hopping from one foot to another, someone else trying to tell a silly joke, and I couldn't do it. I couldn't answer their questions or chat with them. I just cried, sitting in the middle of the sofa, flanked by two of my living children, Charlie sitting on my lap happily slapping the bright pages with his dimpled hands.
Truly I don't know why I'm telling you all of this. I'm not very good at sharing sorrow and luckily, blessedly, I haven't had much of it to share in a very long time. But he's been on my mind so much lately. Maybe doing the photo year in review was the tipping point. Because, you know, he's not here with us in the way I want him to be, the way I wish he could have been.
All of this just really makes it so clear, so, so clear, that loving more doesn't mean loving less. Loving more people doesn't mean less love to go around. The more children I have, the more friends I make, the more I really learn and try to love the way God calls us to love, the more love I have. The more I feel the ache to love my boy here in my arms. The more I give and do with those I have in my home, the more I feel Nicholas' absence, the joy that's missing as he is missing.
The more kids I love, the more I love my kids.
I love you, Nicholas. Pray for your family, okay?
Friday, January 02, 2015
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Oh, Dwija. Prayers for you today. St. Nicholas, pray for us!
ReplyDeleteThe heart of a mother: joyful, sorrowful, human, loving, and honest. Thank you for always openly sharing your motherly heart with us. Sending you prayers today.
ReplyDeleteSending prayers your way.
ReplyDeleteThere's a line in Romeo and Juliet, where Juliet's nurse says, "Women grow by men". It's meant to be a snickery sort of line, heh heh, nudge nudge, but I think underneath lies the truth of what you're saying. Women grow physically through pregnancy, yes, and then we spend the rest of our lives growing spiritually and emotionally. The baby weight that not only never comes off, but continues to accumulate. Even when the physical part of that child isn't with you.
ReplyDeleteI love you, Dwija. Hope today is full of joy to keep the sorrow company.
I couldn't even do the year in review and I haven't even been able to look at any of them. Just too many babies....
ReplyDeletePrayers for you!! We talked about our two saint babies on miscarriage awareness day and we lit a candle. Now Cupcakes (4) is old enough to ask questions. It is hard...
ReplyDeleteGrief surprises me that way too -- when there is no "anniversary," no rhyme or reason sometimes. One of my favorite parts of the Bible is when Jesus weeps for Lazarus, because He knows he's going to be raised from the dead anyway! Those are some extravagant tears, filled with love . . . just like yours.
ReplyDeleteXOXO
Nancy
At Mass on Sunday, my oldest and I were alone together because the youngest was sick. As we were walking out, she asked if we could light a candle for our lost foster daughter. They remember even when we do not speak, even when we can not bring ourselves to say the words, these children know. They are witnessing the truth of love right here, right now.
ReplyDeleteThe holidays put Gregory on my mind and heart much more than other times. It's only been the 2nd Christmas without him, of course, but both of the Christmases have been heavy with thoughts of missing and loving my little boy. So, I get what you're saying. Praying for you today.
ReplyDeleteThis is so beautiful.... Praying for you today :-)
ReplyDeleteOh dwija!! So grateful you're sharing your pain because it brings all of us, your internet community, that much closer to you. Wish I could bring over dinner right now!! Sending you love and hugs.
ReplyDeletePraying for you in an extra special way today!! Grief is so strange and can just sneak up in life...may you find peace and comfort:)
ReplyDeleteThank you for letting us know what is in your heart. I can relate in many ways having lost 4 babies to miscarriage. Pray for us, little ones who are so missed by so many families.
ReplyDeleteSome days and weeks are harder than others. It usually isn't the anniversaries that hit me hard, it's the seasons of change that do it. Mothers count heads to keep track, to keep peace, to soothe our hearts. When one head is visibly missing, it's instinctual for panic, anxiety, and even sorrow to kick in. Christmas, New Year's....all times of counting heads around the table and reviewing all that has changed. I will ask Nicky to help guide you through the seasons of change and help you to find him in happy ways amongst all of you, "playing" with his siblings.
ReplyDeleteLove you.
Lots of love to you Dwija, beautiful words and a beautiful love.
ReplyDeleteOh this is me. Two months away from giving birth I find myself crying for the child who would have been born in October.
ReplyDeleteLove to you, Dwija.
ReplyDeleteSending love and prayers your way today.
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry for your loss, and I'm glad that you share where you are in your grief--it reminds me to keep this special intention close in prayer. Much love to the Borobias.
ReplyDeleteSince my dad died, I've felt this sense of biding my time. I'm doing my best to live a sainted life and I'm grateful for it, but on the other hand, if I live another 6 decades like everyone else in my ancestry (except him), that'll be a long time aching for him. But there's a blessing in that too--we're supposed to yearn for Heaven, and now, with my dad there, I finally do. I understand how he had come to feel--loving his life on earth, but ready for his Heavenly Rest. When the grief wells up and I just want to die from it, I remember that.
Prayers for you, Dwija. Being open to life means being open to loss; I know it's worth it, but this is heavy stuff.
ReplyDeleteSweet Nicholas. We miss you here on Earth, but we know you are in the arms of Our Lady. HUGS Dweej.
ReplyDeleteThat was beautiful Dwij - he is SO lucky to have you for a mother. Sending a prayer and a virtual hug your way.
ReplyDeleteI wish I were there so that we could talk about our kids, both those who were born and those who didn't make it that far, and so that I could hug you. God bless you. (If this is a repeat comment, please excuse me! Darn this computer!)
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing. This is what most scares me about openness to life. Another baby is a joy, no matter what, but another baby in my arms isn't guaranteed.
ReplyDeleteCrying along with you, for you, for myself, for the children I never had, and the one child I do have who will never know a brother or a sister. Praying for that time when the thought of Nicholas is a sweet ache and not a raw wound.
ReplyDelete<3
ReplyDelete(I'm not the biggest fan of that little symbol, but sometimes it's appropriate. Love and hugs to you.)
Oh Dwija, thank you for sharing this!
ReplyDeleteDwija: this is breathtakingly, heart-rendingly beautiful. Thank you for sharing the sorrow along with the joy. Hugs and many prayers of comfort.
ReplyDelete"Jesus wept."
ReplyDelete"I pray that they all may be one; as Thou, Father, art in Me and I in Thee, that they also may be one in Us."
Your sorrow is my sorrow. Your joy is my joy. Praying...
Oh, Dwija, this is so achingly, painfully beautiful. It's true: the more children you have, the more love you have.
ReplyDeleteYour little angel in Heaven is surely watching over the momma who loves him so. God bless you.
So beautiful. Thank you for writing this. It speaks straight to my heart, too. I will be praying for you.
ReplyDelete<3
ReplyDeleteI love St. Nicholas, the real guy, and have felt really close to him this year. I often think of you and your Nicholas when I think of him. I will pray that both he and your Nicholas fill up your heart with Divine Love and comfort.