Torn

I am sitting in my living room while my eldest daughter, EllaGrace, sleeps. I am struck by how many things can go through one's mind at once. I set out to write about feeling torn, always, between: life and death, happiness and sadness, appreciation and anger, excitement and fear, peace and torment... But I wrote my first line and was reminded of another dilemma I will now face - how will I answer the question "how many children do you have?" - torn between privacy and truth?

EllaGrace is my eldest daughter. She is my firstborn. I used to call her 'my daughter', and cognitively I know this is still true. However, I used to use this language as a title, Daughter, my one and only. The truth is, she is no longer my only daughter. I knew my second born child, a daughter, for only a short time outside of my womb, but she was real. It seems as though I negate her existence when I call EllaGrace 'Daughter' now. On the other hand, writing 'while my eldest daughter sleeps' seems to suggest that my second one does not, as if she is awake, with me. I wish so much that this was the case. Some how, once again, language fails me or tricks me. Maggie's death has taken with it the use of the word daughter... perhaps not forever.

If I cannot sort out how to use the word daughter, then likely the answer to outsiders' questions "how many children do you have?" or "do you have children?" will continue to evade me. Maggie and Patrick were so small, innocent and their lives so short that the only word with which I can describe the experience is intimate (outside of horrific, awful, heart wrenching, etc.). That being said, although they died 36 and 32 days ago, I continue to attempt to maintain that intimacy. Few people knew them, have seen them or their images and the story of their lives and deaths is mine (and Lee's) story to share. It is intimate. Yet, I am the mother of three beautiful children. Sadly only one is living. That is the true answer and I do not want to exclude Maggie or Patrick from the answer because their lives were so precious and have had such an impact on me/us. I am torn between privacy and truth.

As I am writing this, as I began to say, I am sitting in a quiet room. there is sun, blue skies and snow outside but I am warm and comfortable. EllaGrace is sleeping. We have just been shopping where she chose one, very large and very pink Christmas ball ornament which we have hung in her bedroom window. We are preparing to decorate for the holiday season. And I am listening to peaceful music. It is a peaceful moment. The holiday season brings excitement and with it family and joy.

Imagine if you will, peeling a layer away from that image - happy, peaceful - the music that I am listening to is the music playlist compiled for Maggie and Patrick's goodbye. I am listening to "I dreamed I held you in my arms, when I awoke dear, I was mistaken, and I hung my head down and cried..." - who knew that "You Are My Sunshine" could be so accurate? Many of these songs are ones that I have sung to EllaGrace. They are now songs that I connect to all my children, but in the worst and perhaps best way possible. I can still hold EllaGrace and sing to her in order to offer her comfort, distraction and connections. I sang to and played the music for Maggie and Patrick in the last moments of their bodies' existence. I know that with the music, they also felt my love, saw my tears drop on the floor around their casket and heard my pleas for forgiveness. It is so important for me that they know how I mourn for them and how much I love them. I know that I did my best in those moments so the music brings me that peace. And yet, this music brings me back to their goodbye - I can walk myself through the entire, awful experience from seeing the casket brought into the space, others' tears, and the casket being taken away. I can feel the pressure that was building inside me as I waited to be alone with Lee so that I could fall to the floor and wail. Scream for them. Try to get the inner torment out although it will never be completely soothed.

The fascinating thing about the human experience though, is that we can experience opposing emotions. My joy in EllaGrace and planning Christmas are real. My appreciation for having carried Maggie and Patrick as long as I did and having the moments and days that I had with them is entirely genuine. When I laugh with my husband over dinner or dishes, it is a real laugh. But, I also fear a first Christmas without Maggie and Patrick and feel completely saddened that they will not be here with us. I am very angry that infection set in so early and regret that I did not have more time with Maggie and Patrick and that I did not examine and memorize every inch of their bodies. I never thought to look at their bums - and this may seem silly to others, but the truth is we take for granted diaper changes and bath times... I just imagine how tiny and perfect their bums would have been! And that fills be me with happiness and heartache, conflicting experiences, once again.

For now, I will just listen to the music...

"And you should always know
Wherever you may go
No matter where you are
I never will be far away

Goodnight, my angel
Now it's time to sleep "