2 Years

Today, my boy would have been two years old.  That seems just about impossible.  Long ago I stopped being able to picture him continuing to grow and change and age.  Now he is mostly just a baby to me, the little baby I held in the hospital and left behind in the bassinet.  I can’t picture him at two years old. I can’t picture what he would look like or what his personality might have been or what he would be doing.  On the one hand that makes me really sad.  On the other hand I think it makes it easier to not have a little ghost of a boy running around in my head.  Better to lose just a baby than to lose a baby and a boy.

Sometimes it seems as if maybe I am living in two different worlds.  One is vibrant and moving and full of life with a noisy four year old and a demanding four month old and dogs that run and get under your feet and a husband who is always busy with something.  The phone rings, the doorbell chimes, there are emails in the inbox.  The other world is stationary, hazy, and quiet.  Not much going on but it’s encompassing, nonetheless.  That’s the world my son is in, the world in which nobody but me has admittance, not even my husband and daughters because they don’t remember him in the same way that I do, I don’t think they go there, to that quiet, hazy place like I do and so I travel there alone and I spend my time there alone.  Nobody comes to meet me there anymore, now that I can’t conjure up a picture of my ghost boy.  In all honesty, it’s been a solitary spot for about 14 months now.  A lonely, sad spot and I really don’t like visiting.  So I go less and less.  I spend more and more time in the vibrant world, the one with the living and I try to comfort myself by thinking that since the ghost boy doesn’t visit me in the other world anymore anyway, there’s no use in hanging out there by myself or feeling guilty when I don’t make the time for a visit.

Today, though, today is different and I feel a pull towards that other world and think I might like to spend a chunk of the day by myself, quiet and lonely.  I won’t; I will be pulled back into the world of the living as soon as Bee wakes up or hubby and L return from their early morning jaunt on the beach.  I really won’t get much of a choice, to be honest, and it’s probably for the best.  Spending my day there would be a very sad way to spend my boy’s birthday.  So instead we will be loading up this morning to go see some lovely historic sites and hunt down some delicious vegan muffins (there are no vegan cupcakes to be found in this little beachside town, and since I can’t have dairy and eggs, vegan muffins will have to do this year.  I am trying to not feel badly about shortchanging Micah with muffins.  Seriously, what is wrong with me that I am worried about shortchanging a dead baby based on whether or not we have cupcakes on his birthday?) and birthday candles so we can have a family celebration of sorts later on.  There is also supposed to be a full moon tonight and so we are looking forward to see that as well.

Ah, you guys, I just miss him so much.  Even after two years of living without him, I miss him so very much.  I still ache for him and long for him and want him here with us.  The unfairness of it still creeps up on me and makes my eyes sting.  I just don’t allow myself to go to that place very much anymore.  I’m much, much better at changing my mind’s subject and moving on to something that doesn’t punch me in the gut.  Maybe that’s what time does to grief? Makes it easier to change the subject? 

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Micah, my boy, happy birthday.  I wish you were here celebrating with us, I wish we had come to the beach for your birthday not because it’s a change of scenery for us but because you love running in the waves and building sand castles and chasing seagulls.  I wish that muffins just wouldn’t do and we would hunt for a mixer and flour and vegan cream cheese to make cupcakes because what living two year old boy would settle for muffins on his birthday?  I wish so much that I knew what you would look like and feel like and sound like and smell like because that would mean you were here.  I know that you are just fine where you are, I know that you are better off than we are and that it’s just my jealous heart wanting you for me, selfishly, but baby I can’t help it.  A mama can’t let go of her children very easily.  My boy.  My boy.  I love that.  I just wish I could say it to you and see you turn to look at me.  Oh, baby, I miss you so much and wish each and every day that I could have gotten more time with you.  I love you my sweet boy.  Happy Birthday.