They are everywhere. Just waking up can be a trigger, as I open my eyes to remember she’s been and gone.
The huge pile of baby items we collected for her before 28 weeks that still sit in the basement.
They can be as simple as walking around the quiet house in the darkness, which reminds me of the nights I walked with her inside me, unable to sleep, knowing she was going to die.
The NICU security card still tucked in my wallet, that I can’t bring myself to remove, even though I always get a twinge of emotion when I see it.
The man who asked if I was pregnant a couple months ago. I now realize it may be because of the way I hold myself, as if she’s still in there. I’m trying to stop the trigger of rubbing a vacant belly.
The brother and sister who giggled together at the park.
Seeing Max’s baby pictures.
Daddies with little girls.
So many triggers.
Every 14th of the month reminds me of her death. Every 23rd her BIRTH. And the fact that Mother’s Day falls the day before that six months since we said goodbye mark feels like a huge trigger that I would like to ignore. Do I strictly celebrate my children? Do I recognize my loss in motherhood? What about my own mother, and Joe’s lack of a mother on earth? It’s all just swirling and I can’t make it stop. Life and death, happiness and sadness—when it comes to Mother’s Day how can I have one without the other? A year ago I was in my second trimester, thinking I’d have a six-month old at this time.
Today, I have a vibrant son who wrote me a silly poem with a rainbow magnet that says: “You are the greatest mother in the universe.” Through loss, I don’t always see myself that way, but I’m grateful he does.