We’re coming up on Ezra’s birthday soon, and I’ve been thinking a lot about grief, and how tied it is to summertime in my mind. Early July 2013 is the last time that I remember being innocently, ignorantly happy. It’s not that I haven’t felt happy since – of course I have. Happiness is a surprisingly hardy thing and it comes back, albeit in a changed form. It’s just that I used to live in a world where my son wasn’t dead, and now I don’t.
These midsummer weeks were the hard weeks, the ones when we were trying to find out what was wrong and each test gave us more bad news than the last. The weeks when we had to make terrible decisions.
I think that Lauren and I might actually be more connected to our grief this year than we were last year, possibly because we had most of our feelings on hold as much as possible for the duration of my pregnancy with Moose. Speaking for myself, I also suspect that having Moose changes things – that loving this ridiculous amazing kid as she grows and develops broadens our understanding of what exactly it is that we lost. Our son will never change or grow, my love for him is a static thing and I think I’m only starting to process how sad that is.
This article is going around on my facebook feed, and it rang true for me this week. We have some photos, a few articles of clothing, ultrasound printouts and our memories. And grief – we’ll always have our grief.