What could I say?

No words I have could bring him back.

I know this because I have prayed them all.

Somedays I feel as though all of this never happened and it was just the plot of some very sad movie.  But then I realize I was a lead in that movie and it was based on a true story........ mine, and maybe yours too.

I spend most of my days busy rearing my other children, but at night when the house is quiet, I spend my time thinking about the one I didn't beg to finish his veggies, or brush his teeth.  The one I didn't get to read a bedtime story to.  I don't know what his day was like or what he wants for his birthday this year.  I'm not even sure what he would look like at this age.  Would he have my lips and his daddy's eyes? Would his hair be blond like his older siblings or red like his baby brother?

I don't know what it is about grief that can string together so many emotions that hit you like a ton of bricks when you least expect it.  I know that for the first few months after he passed I expected the influx of tears and heart gripping sadness.  I expected to ebb and flow through periods of sadness and normal-ness.  I have always been told that time heals all wounds.  But does it really?  Does the woman who loses a child EVER heal from such a loss?

 Sure,  I'm not walking around with the black shroud of grief over my head like I did in the beginning.  Now it's just more of a constant aching, longing, wondering for him.  I find myself longing for these moments that are missed as I watch his baby brother grow and learn.  It's as though the loss is more real to me now than it was then.  The reality of what I've lost and how deeply affected I am by it.

Then there are the days when I feel guilty.  All of the what could have been and how would my life be different.  I feel guilty for wanting him here knowing that E would not have been born, or for the fact that I can't imagine my life without E which means Nathan could not be here.   They both can't exist at once.  I feel guilty when I don't acknowledge him as one of my children to avoid the uncomfortableness of a conversation with someone new.  The questions that aren't asked for fear of my reaction.  Or the answers that aren't readily given without being asked, because no one wants to think about what it would mean to hold their lifeless child.  I certainly didn't. So I don't say anything.  But he is such a part of my story.  I am different now because of him.  Life experiences mold you, change you.

  So what could I say? What words could I use to honor his life and change someone else's?  I can't bring him back but he can still leave his impression on this earth... through me.