Today was a good day. Yesterday, sadly, was not. December 1 is always a difficult day for me, and not just the last 2 years of being divorced. December 1 used to be my anniversary.
Today was a good day. I was past the hurt from yesterday. It was rainy. It was gloomy. It was fairly dreary. But it was a good day. Today hinted of Christmas.
Last year, I was a mess this time of year. I'm not sure I'm a whole lot better this year.
For those who don't know, let me summarize:
The fall of 2009, I was hospitalized due to a high-risk pregnancy with my son Jack. His placenta had grown through my uterus, into my cervix, bladder, and abdominal cavity. After a couple of scares, Jack was delivered at 31 weeks on December 16, 2009 - the day before my 31st birthday.
Jack was with me 12 days. He died on December 28, 2009 after being med-flighted to Children's Hospital in St. Louis. My life, since his birth, has changed drastically.
Physically, I went through 4 surgeries following Jack's birth, to repair my bladder, and remove cancerous tissues. I completed 8 weeks of oral chemotherapy. Emotionally, however, I went through more. My husband and I divorced (insert comments about his indiscretion here), my mother-in-law lost her battle to cancer and was buried near my son.
The days blend together. I dreaded the holiday season approaching. Not only did it mean a return of the memories, emotions, and nightmares of Decembers past - but financially, I have not had a clue how I would pull off Christmas for the two babies I have here at home. Enter stage left - my dear sister Robyn. She has sent box, after box, after box, with more boxes to come... packed to the hilt of much needed, and some much wanted, items for the kids. God bless sisters.
Every day, though, sprinkled among the everyday happenings of getting the kids to and from school, working, cooking dinner, laundry, and homework... are the emotionally charged blasts of memories from Jack.
Sweet Jack.
I closed my eyes tonight, and for a few brief moments I was back in the NICU. Jack's head resting on my sternum. We were both sweating: Jack heavily swaddled by the NICU staff, and me heavily swaddled by my nurses. His tiny hand clasped my bra strap. The other held his massive pacifier in his mouth.Two songs had come to my mind, and I sang them quietly - alternating between Kenny Loggins House at Pooh Corner, and You Are My Sunshine. His monitors beeped, chirped, and ticked away the time. We sat and rocked for a Heavenly 2 hours, before his nurses removed him.
For a few brief moments tonight, his tiny head was on my sternum. His chest rose and fell against mine. His dark damp fuzz clinging to me. He was mine, again. He was here. He was mine.
Tears filled my eyes, and they opened. The NICU was gone. This is not home. This is my house, but it is no longer home. My children sleep a few rooms away. I sit, alone, on the loveseat, rocking still. Everything is different. Oddly, so much is still the same. He's still gone. I still hurt.
Today, was a good day.
John Zachry Sanger
