I can feel my heart softening, opening in anticipation of the 2nd anniversary of George’s delivery, a week from tomorrow… not unlike what my body was doing in a different way just under 2 years ago as it ushered George outside of my womb and into death.
It feels different this year than it did last – just as I’m sure it will feel different next year. I’ve had an additional year to grieve, to practice navigating this world carrying the truth of what happened. I don’t cry for George too frequently, though I still think about him (and his mother) every day. My heart still aches for him, and I still regularly wonder what life would be like had he survived.
I’m starting to feel more tender, heading towards the anniversary – this next week is going to be a little tough. It doesn’t take much to transport me back to these days in 2019 when Sara’s cancer treatments seemed to be on track, and I’d just bought George a Colorado Rockies onesie at a baseball game work outing, and it was exciting being able to talk about my pregnancy since many folks at work were in the know by that point. It’s still causes my breath to catch when I think about how quickly everything went wrong.
I’m taking that day (August 13th) off of work so that I can do whatever feels right to remember George. I don’t want to have to worry about trying to stay focused, or about controlling my emotions on work calls when he will be so present in my heart that day. I might go on a walk in the nearby wildlife refuge. I know that if George were alive with me today, that’s something we would be doing together regularly, so it feels appropriate. It comes with the added benefit of being outside – there is always room for my grief outside. Sometimes it can feel a little crowded, muffled in the house – but being outside, there’s enough room for whatever feelings I may feel.
I recently read a news article about a baby who just celebrated his first birthday after having been born at 21 weeks & 2 days gestation, weighing 12 oz. A while back I read another of a woman whose water broke at just over 20 weeks, and she managed to maintain the pregnancy through bedrest and near-constant hospitalization for the next 12 weeks until her daughter was born at 32 weeks. I have to admit part of me gets jealous, and a little resentful that George couldn’t have been one of the micro preemie success stories. I also feel guilty that we didn’t pursue every option we could to maintain the pregnancy despite my water breaking. But then I step back and remind myself that he was just too early. Trying to find a way to be that zero-point-whatever percent odds success story just wasn’t the right path for us. Realistically the odds of him surviving had we tried to maintain the pregnancy after the water broke was basically 0% – it would have been extremely risky for me (due to the risk of infection), and with Sara undergoing treatments for her cancer, it just was NOT a real option for us… even if I wish it had been.
Even two years out, doubts still creep in sometimes. When that happens, I have to take a deep breath and remember what was going on, and give myself the grace and the love that I deserve.
