I just found this in my drafts from October.  I think was waiting for an image to go with it and lost track.  And it was rambling.  And not entirely on topic.  But very much how I was feeling on the day after his 2nd birthday.  
Forgiveness.  Whew.  What do I want to forgive?

I think I still have a lot of anger that this happened.  That I was so sick.  That he was so sick.  It’s just …  I haven’t done a whole lot of “why me?”  At least not out loud.  Logically I know that things happen.  That no one has any control.  That pregnancy and birth is a messy process, and that frankly, it’s amazing that it goes right as much as it does.  It doesn’t make me not angry that this happened.  To us.  To anyone.

The common loss phrase “too beautiful for earth” frequently makes me irrationally angry.  I know that some people find comfort in the idea that their baby was special.  That there was a plan, a reason.  But there is no reason.  Owen has been asking why a lot recently.  About everything but also why Noah died.  We try to explain the medical side of it.  But the truth is, it’s not a question I can answer.  We are human, and our bodies don’t always work right.  The pieces don’t quite fit the way they should.

Forgiveness.  Who am I angry at?  Biology?  I don’t know.  Maybe some day I won’t be angry.  That day isn’t today.

There are nights when I look at my sleeping kids, and all I can think, over and over again, is “please don’t die.”  
I had a dream last night that my oldest had died.  He was back as a ghost.  We played, but he couldn’t talk.  And I knew at somepoint he would leave.  

A child his in our state was murdered in an act of road rage this week.  I try to avoid such news but it has been everywhere.  The low level panic from reading about that is wearing me thin.  I can’t help but see my child in these stories.  I know it is someone’s little girl.  And there is nothing that makes me different from them other Han time and place.  I know how easy it is for life to change in an instant.  

So to my kids, tonight, please don’t die.  

  I never understood the trend in the loss community to equate our children with butterflies. But this summer, during an exceptionally hard week, a yellow butterfly came to visit our back yard every day. I had rarely seen a butterfly. I now see them all the time. As the seasons change and it gets cold, I will miss seeing them everywhere.  

Yesterday at the Walk of Remembrance they did a butterfly release. Owen really wanted to hold a butterfly.  He kept not having any luck, but then Dan pointed out one that had landed on me.  Owen managed to hold it, and when it flew away, it came back to me.  It flew away and then landed back in me three times.  It was probably on me for five minutes.  I can’t explain it, but I was very emotional when it finally flew away.  

Tomorrow is Noah’s birthday.  I love and miss you sweet boy.  💙💙💙

  It is often said that you didn’t just lose a baby, you lost the toddler, child, teen and adult they would have been.  Their first steps, first word, first day of school.  Graduation, wedding, children they might have had.  And I will think of all of those things when we get to each “he would have…” Kids the age Noah would have been I have already watched have their first words, first steps.  

But we also lost the lives we would have had.  I can not imagine a single aspect of our lives that wouldn’t have been different had he lived.  

Owen plays every week at the park with a little boy just 2.5 months younger than Noah would have been if he had been healthy and made it to term. I get this glimpse of the big brother he could have been to Noah.  

Most kids don’t know or think much about death.  But we talk about death a lot.  He heard me say “oh no” the other day.  Nothing catastrophic had happened.  But his first response? “Who died?”  

I don’t want to go into all the people I might be closer to if Noah hadn’t died.  Whether due to something they said, did, or didn’t, or just because of different beliefs, or circumstances of dates.  I have just as many if not more people that I wouldn’t be as close to without our losses.  Whether we met through loss, or just became closer through the common bond.  

Our whole lives are different.  I can’t even tell you all the ways.  I can’t see all the “what might have been.” But we see glimpses sometimes.  

  My biggest regret is that we didn’t have a memorial service for Noah.  I was so overwhelmed I didn’t know where to begin.  And, I didn’t think anyone would come.  I was still worried that people would be “uncomfortable.”  Because what death isn’t uncomfortable?  And no one knew him like we did.  What could people say?  There were no memories to share.

We had just moved here.  I had been on bedrest as much as not since we got here.  And all our family was far away.  I still wonder who if anyone would have come.  It was so hard to have the world keep turning for everyone else while I was stuck.  It would have been nice to have people take the time to just sit with us.  To acknowledge that he was here, and than gone, and that he was worth grieving.  I think part of me was afraid that I would be more hurt by people not coming, so it was easier to just not.  

On his first birthday I was feeling this regret acutely.  I considered having one then, but the timing just didn’t seem right.  We did get a stone for our garden for him, and we had a balloon release with friends. This year, we are doing something more private, but we are also doing a random acts of kindness drive.  I would love if on his birthday, in addition to people sharing what they are doing in his memory, people would share how he has effected them.  How they reacted when they heard the news.  What thoughts and feelings they’ve had then or since.