Many Say It But Few Really Mean It

It takes a sudden traumatic experience to really feel close to the reality of death, and to truly, truly behold the fragility of life. To really grasp how fast our lives, and life can stop, how in an instant it can just end...quietly. The very recent death of a friends child, her sweet baby has brought me right back to this reality of life. This dear mama, who knew she would not have sweet bliss to kiss and kiss and kiss her babes warm lips. She carried her precious one, knowing he would not survive to live and breathe.

To those who have never walked this path...the path that has lead to bittersweet loss, baby and child loss...you can not know what this cliff of death and darkness feels like. You can assume to know, but you can't ever truly know. I wish I didn't know this path, or that dark, steep cliff...and then the silent place. The motionless child who's pink lips change to a deep hue of blue, then to black. The weight of my motionless, lifeless lovely girl... Only those who have faced this reality, this truth, the flip side of innocent everyday life, only we can really know how damn precious each and every moment of living is. I have come to know too many ways of pregnancy loss, I know far too many who have lost. It's so damn hard for me to meet an innocent pregnant woman sometimes, I always feel like I want to protect her from what "could possibly" happen to her baby. Feeling the need to implore her to not take anything about their pregnancy or her baby for granted, because, the reality is as many of us know, you may not get to take your baby home with you.

So much has been happening around here in our home. Difficulty and struggle, growing and changing...the waxing and waning of feelings and emotions. Truth is, when it comes down to the miniscule moments, it is always with me that things could just STOP. At any time, my heart could stop beating. At any time, this reality that we have come to know...5 years after Birdie's death could just suddenly cease.

We all get so damn used to what we "think" is our reality. Forgetting that we are just energy, we are just water and skin...here on this precious earth. We have built up our cities and towns, we merge everyday with the "realities" of others. We cross the street, we walk, stepping, stepping. Lifting one foot, then the other as we daydream about that delicious cup of coffee. We don't really stop to think, to really be in each moment. We don't stop to look up at the sky, to watch clouds pass overhead, to watch the way the birds search for worms along the ground. We don't just stop to experience our lives, our realities...

It's a struggle, to stop and slow down. We are moving too fast in this life.

In no way do I mean to imply that I am perfect at this either, but I try really damn hard to stop, to look around at the world, to look up at the sky, to really LIVE my life.


So, how can you really, truly know how precious life is, if you have never held a lifeless child in your arms? I don't know that you can.

Orri, this new babe from the land of miracles is now 10 weeks! WTF! How did we get here. Every week, at least a few people ask how old the babe is and it stuns me all over again. The weeks since his birth are going by so swiftly, it's like the pages of a book, the story of Orri are just turning, and turning before I get to read all the words on the page of "Week 9", and "Week 10".

SLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW DOWN!

Time stood still when Holdyn was born. I encased myself in a protective mama shell, and at first glance of my miracle was so high of him that for nearly a year I never came down from that high.

Of course life for us this time around is different, life with two living littles just moves along...not that it is rushed, or fast paced...it just moves in a way that allows less space for mama to take it all in sometimes, I mean really take it all in. I crave that space, I want to study every inch of this new babe's face, as I did with his big brother.

The first few weeks after Orri's birth were difficult for me. I was happy, but I also became incredibly sad on many occasions. It didn't help that Matt was not super sensitive nor understanding of my emotions. I couldn't control my feeling so blue. At times I was beside myself, and it was terribly hard to appreciate the gift I had been given, another living, breathing, beautiful baby. I felt so low, so terribly sad, lost, blah.

Fortunately, I has built around me a fortress (community) of incredible, supportive, loving mamas (and their families), and they came to my rescue. These amazing women, fed us and checked in with us those first weeks following the birth. What a blessing. I can't ever thank these beautiful loving women enough.

Now, 10 weeks out. Here we are. It's way too late for me to be awake, but Orri sleeps contentedly upon my chest, where he spends most of his days and nights. I wouldn't have it any other way. It feels like my truth to have him there, listening to my heart, so close to my breast, breathing in my smell. He like his brother is so happy to be in this space of my body...a fourth trimester.