Facing What Should Have Been

Some adorable clothes we were gifted for Calvin. His nursery theme was sloths.

This week was a battle. Instead of a physical enemy needing to be conquered, I had to face my worst fear: what should have been but is not. Just days after finally getting my son’s ashes and putting together his shadow boxes, I pulled up my bootstraps and went to my goddaughter’s birthday party. I was extremely nervous and nearly backed out roughly sixteen times. I wish I were exaggerating, but this was the first function I was attending since his passing, and it would be the first time I saw a lot of close friends. I know the awkwardness for people, and I can watch every weird reaction and thought cross people’s faces. The internal war of “Do I say something? Do I not say something? Is it rude not to say anything? Is she going to be upset if I bring it up? Will she be upset if I don’t bring it up?” I wish I could tell you the magical right answer but there is none. It depends on the grieving person and sometimes our feelings about it change from one minute to the next. I was less worried about the things people were going to say and was more concerned with the emotions I bring out in people. People were either going to give me the sympathy eyes and feel sad looking at me or think I am this great hero for even getting out of bed. As someone who hates attention, I miss the days where seeing me didn’t emote really any emotion. I miss plan ole “Oh, Steph is here. Cool.” In the crazy duality of grief, who knows, maybe I would be upset at that too.

The bouncer seat we were gifted for Calvin. We were also gifted a matching swing. They sat set up waiting for him to come home but were never used.

I was fully prepared that I was going to see a couple babies at the party. For some reason, my brain short circuited and was counting two but, in reality, I walked headfirst into a living room full of them. I think I stopped breathing for a moment. My soul left my body, gave a stern talking to with God and crashed back down into me. I took a deep breath and put my smile on. The truth is it hurts to come face to face with what should have been. I should have been down on the floor with my own baby, in sleep deprived bliss, and most likely with spit up or an unidentified stain on my shirt. I should have the blissful ignorance of being frustrated at the small stuff instead of sitting there watching other people’s families thinking “I hope they know how lucky they are.” Being a grieving parent comes with a heaping side of jealousy and that’s okay. I feel envious when people complain about their wild child or what frustrating shenanigans their kids are getting into. I would give anything to see what a mischievous and ornery hellion Calvin would have been. I don’t even get angry at goldfish crackers smashed into our couch or the unsurmountable pile of stuffed animals in her bed anymore because the mess is proof that Charleigh is here and is living a happy life. I did the only thing I knew how to while standing in that living room. I went to work. I entertained babies, I took photos, and did any job someone would give me. I wasn’t going to waste this precious moment with loved ones being angry or jealous because I know all too well, they could be gone in an instant.

As the party wound down, parents circled around for the inevitable baby talk. The cutest outfits, the insatiable bellies, the favorite blankies. All the things I wish I could jump in and add to. I so badly wanted to brag about how handsome my little boy was and all the most adorable things we picked out for him. I’m still a mommy to a baby; my baby will just never grow up or meet anybody. I can’t let you hold him or pick out special outfits for special occasions. All I’ll ever have to show off are photographs from a single day and an attic full of unused toys. I want to brag like any parent, but my bragging is met with “I’m sorry” and sad looks.

My amazing and beautiful baby shower. We celebrated my pregnancy with Calvin and he was so spoiled. As hard as it is, I’m thankful we got a day to celebrate him before he passed.

Fourth of July weekend, I watched as my daughter played with her cousins, but my body couldn’t settle. It knew with every fiber of its being that something was missing. There were so many things it was supposed to be doing. I should be picking out matching American flag outfits and trying to entertain an infant while Charleigh swims. I should be taking pictures as each cousin took a turn holding him. I should be running around the house looking for my nursing cover or my Boppy.

I should be praying that he stays asleep through the fireworks and general chaos throughout the house. Instead, I had an ache in my heart and anxious energy with nowhere to get rid of it.

Now we are forced to try and coerce stores into letting us return some of our more expensive baby items that are going unused. An infant car seat and matching stroller he should be riding in but are now collecting dust hurtling towards an expiration date. BOTH of our monitors we bought that recorded various health information like breathing and oxygenation. We were paranoid of making sure he was healthy and safe, but we never got the change to open the boxes. We were never gifted the opportunity to use every gadget and gizmo to protect him. Say a prayer for grieving parents. We are not just grieving our child, but also the things that should have been. All the firsts, the birthdays, the memories are taken from us in an instant while we are left picking up the pieces of our new reality.