Breathing in the memory of my baby

Today I came across this bag. This bag has Killian’s clothes and blankets in it. The ones that I was supposed to wash the day he died. I put my face in those clothes and I breathe deep. And I smell him. And it brings me most happiness and the deepest pain all at the same time. And I get mad. Really really mad. And think, why me? Why us? It’s not fair and it pisses me off. What did we do to deserve this.

But who deserves it? The other heart mom who’s 7 year old just died in her arms this past PD day? The mother who’s three children were hit by a drunk driver and all died? No…No one deserves this. Not one person in this world does. No one asks for it.

There is no rhyme or reason behind it, as much as we wish there was. We were dealt the card no one wants. And all we can do is cling on to the pieces of them that were left behind. The memories. The parts of them that are still here. To integrate them into every ounce of us.

I smell his clothes every day. I sleep with his elephant every night. I have anxiety over the fact that one day Ill have to wash them. There’s no rationality in that. Is there an easier path to follow when the end of the road is the death of your child? What mom do you choose to be? The mom who only had 6 weeks with her baby? Who never saw her baby outside of hospital walls? Or the mom who had 5 years to spend with her little girl? To ingrain them so deeply in every part of their lives, and now have every tiny thing remind them of what they’re missing?

Fairness goes out the window with the death of a child. Logic follows right behind it. We don’t need to hear reasons. No matter how much better they make you feel to say. “Gods plan.” “Their purpose was served.” “They’re in a better place.” These are never said in a spiteful way, but they sometimes hurt to hear. Because I’m selfish. I don’t want him in a better place. I want him here, in my arms and keeping me awake at night. Not on my mantle in a box.

So please, don’t try to find a justification or a reason. Just sit with us or listen to us or make us laugh. Ask us what we need. Because fairness and justness isn’t a reality when you’ve lost someone who is part of you. I miss you my little Bean. More than I thought I could. And it’s just not fair.

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