The Tears are Different

Not only are the emotions in my soul different, the tears actually feel different. 9 and 3 years later I grieve for my babies in different ways. When Ava first died and a large percentage of the time since that day, my grief for her eclipses my grief for Eric. Not out of lack of sadness for him, but I had 6 years of getting used to him being gone before she passed.

But it's not only that. When Eric was born we were full of joy. We had our first child. My dreams of becoming a Mom came true. Everything was a first. His birth story is filled with excitement and joy. Filled with anticipation of the future.

For Ava the sweet memories are not as abundant and flowing. I was worried my whole pregnancy. I don't know if instinctively knew that there was something wrong. I don't know if I was freaked out at the prospect of having a 4th c-section and being the mom of 4 children under 5. Whatever the situation I found myself in the hospital the night before Ava's delivery on IV fluids trying to hold off for a day to get me to 35 weeks gestation. That night in the hospital was horrible. I came home, undelivered, looking and feeling like I was beaten up. After being home for a few more hours the contractions, while unproductive, kept coming one minute apart. At 2 I went in for my c-section. I will never forget how excited the Bugs were and how I felt the need to temper their excitement. I remember thinking "Am I ready for this...." with an air of imminence. There was not much room for sweet memories. I had a rough recovery and the hospitalization was not too great. The day we discharged is the day we learned Ava could not hear. It was on what would have been on Eric's 6th birthday.  I remember the witnessing the unabashed joy the Bugs had for Ava. The plans they would make for "When Ava is 1...5...etc". I remember trying to temper their exuberance without trying to squash their spirit in hopes to prepare them for what I feared what was around the corner.

These differences are playing out as we are faced with another birthday week. I feel freer to remember the sweet things about Eric. The sweet things about Ava are muddled with a sick pit of the stomach feeling. Busting through that to HER sweetness is not an easy road. It makes all that we were given and subsequently lost so much more poignant.

Then there is the birthday observances. We try to meet the Bugs' needs. This means that Allan and I have to do things that we don't necessarily want to do.  They are kids and they need the tangible, free expression of love. I suppose that is a good thing as sometimes it's easier to bury your head. So this year, on Ava's birthday we went to the grave and laid flowers for Eric and Ava. The store didn't have yellow roses, so we settled on pink and added some yellow baby's breath.

When I first saw this, I wanted to run away. It's too much to bear. But I've learned to bear the enormity of our grief. I am trying to focus on how each of these sweet babies were God's gift to us. Because, really that is exactly what they were. No matter how differently their stories and lives are etched in my memory.