October 9, 2011--Taking Him Back

My days have been more good than bad lately.  Obviously, I am glad for this.  There have been many days since June 10^th when I’ve questioned the possibility of ever having a “good” day again.  It’s nice to know that it is a possibility, even if my “good” days are what I would probably refer to as “okay” days in my life before Max.  Even on good days, there are still lots of things that make me sad—seeing babies, hearing a certain song, seeing that video in my email inbox, smelling something that reminds me of Max.  The list goes on and on and it’s different every day.  Even when I’m not thinking of Max or what is missing from my life, I am still sad.  That sadness is just part of me now.  I don’t like that it’s part of me or that it probably won’t go away, but it also feels justified and normal.  I know that people feel relieved when I crack a joke or make it through a baby shower, and I feel that way too.  I know that people feel sad and maybe frustrated when I don’t crack jokes or even attempt to make it through a baby shower, and I understand that.  It would be hard for me to see a friend or family member going through what I am.  I’m sure I would feel helpless and worried and desperate.  I would want to help, and it would kill me that I couldn’t.  I would want my friend to be happy, to have something good happen after something so horrible.  I know that’s what my friends want, and I do too.

            Today marks four months without Max.  In some ways it seems like he died years ago, but in other ways it feels like he died yesterday.  In most ways, I still can’t believe that he died at all.  Nicole brought me four Gerber daisies today, one for each month that Max has been gone.  I love Gerber daisies.  I don’t think Nicole realized this, but while I was in the hospital having Max, Scott’s mom planted two pots of bright, colorful Gerber daisies for me.  For the past few years, I’ve picked out flowers for my pots on Mother’s Day.  I spend the day potting them and arranging them until they’re just right.  I don’t always remember to take care of them after I plant them, but at least for that day they are treated with great care and love.  Since I was busy having Max over Mother’s Day weekend, I didn’t pick out my flowers.  Betty knew that I loved Gerber daisies, though, so she picked them out and planted them for me.  It was a surprise for me.  The flowers sat on our front porch when we returned home from the hospital over Mother’s Day weekend with the perfect little boy that we imagined would complete our family.  The daisies were beautiful.  How can I help but think of Max every time I see a Gerber daisy now?  This is probably horrible to say, but I couldn’t wait for those flowers to die this year.  I stopped watering them in hopes that they would die and stay that way.  Why should they get to live longer than Max?

            I had a dream about Max last night.  Maybe I had it because today is the four-month “anniversary” of his death, maybe I had it because I looked at some of his pictures before I went to sleep, or maybe I had it because I just needed to.  It was a little strange, but isn’t all of this strange?  In my dream, Max was dead.  I held him through the entire dream though.  For some reason, we were allowed to keep Max.  This is a common practice when babies are stillborn.  Parents keep their babies for two or three days in their hospital room.  Newborn portraits are taken, relatives are brought in to “meet” the baby, and parents are given valuable, but fleeting “bonding” time.  I know it sounds morbid, but it’s beautiful.  In a way, I feel jealous that I didn’t get to keep holding Max.  The last time I held him was when I ran with him down the stairs and handed him to a firefighter.  I would give just about anything to have been able to hold him before they took him away that day.  I suppose I could have, but I didn’t know that.  I was so unprepared for my son to die.  I was so unprepared for what he would look like and feel like, and I was so shocked by both.  Of course, now I could just scream at myself for not being able to get over those feelings for just a second to hold him or to even consider the possibility of picking him up.  Asking and being told no would be better than never having asked at all. 

            Anyway, in my dream, I held Max.  He was dead, but I held onto him tightly.  I can still feel myself holding him.  I walked around and talked to him.  I caressed his face, I combed my fingers through his hair, and I gave him every ounce of love I had in me.  In my dream, people kept telling me that it was gross that I still had Max.  It didn’t anger me when they said that; I knew they just didn’t know any better.  Death is “gross” to people before they realize that it’s so much more than that and before they know what it really is to love someone else more than you love yourself.  Eventually, people started to gently suggest that it might be time for me to “take him back.”  I’m not sure where I was supposed to take him, but in my dream I knew.  Each time they phrased their suggestion so that I might come to think of it as my own:  “Don’t you think it’s time?”  I would grip Max a little tighter and smile while brushing them off.  I couldn’t fathom the thought of letting him go.  Eventually, I started to realize that it was, in fact, time to “take him back.”  I caressed his face and kissed him several times.  I told him how much I loved him and how sorry I was.  I hugged him and took in all of his beauty.  And then, I “took him back.”

            I woke up feeling okay.  I remembered my dream in chunks while I got ready for work.  I actually felt a little relieved that I finally had another dream about Max.  I didn’t tell anyone about my dream until I told Nicole after school.  Now, as I write about it, I sob.  That’s one of the most peculiar and frustrating things about this whole “grief” thing—I never know how I’m going to react to anything, even if it’s happened before.  Case in point:  I am able to articulate my dream to Nicole without feeling a rush of tear-worthy emotions, but then an hour later I sob when thinking about it.  This is the first time I’ve cried in a few days, though, and I feel okay about that.  I’m glad that I’ve been able to enjoy bits of my life, but I’m also relieved that I’m not done actively grieving Max just yet. I supposed I’ll never be done, and I’m okay with that too.  If I grieve Max as hard as I love him, after all, then I’ll be doing it for the rest of my life.