I'm not sure what I can say today that I haven't already said in the 25 years leading up to this point. But... 25 years, people. It's not something you can ignore or brush under the carpet (any more than people try to gloss over the fact that she did, for a brief time, exist, if only in my uterus).
So I will try. She deserves it. Especially today, of all days.
25 years. It seems impossible. It's a long chunk of time. The build-up to these "anniversaries" doesn't carry quite the same weight of dread that it did, 24 years ago, 20 years ago, 15 years ago. Facing this day has gotten easier with the passage of time.
But I can't pretend the date doesn't mean anything to me anymore. It does. It still has power.
As I've said before (and as I've heard other childless moms say too), when it's 5, 10, 15, even 20 years later, you have some idea what your kid might be doing (what grade they'd be entering at school this fall, what they'd be studying, what milestones they might be reaching, what their interests & activities might be, based what your friends' & relatives' kids the same age are up to...).
These days, though, I have no idea who she'd be or what she'd be doing. None.
When I was 25, I was married (!), living 1,000 miles away from the people & places I'd known all my life, starting my working life and landing the job I would hold for the next 28 years. They say young people are marrying older these days, but a childhood friend's son, born 25 years ago in April, just got married last week (!) -- now THAT definitely gave me pause!! A cousin's son -- also 25 -- was attending a friend's wedding this week. My cousin's daughter -- also 25 -- has been living with her boyfriend in another city for several years now.
She would definitely be all grown up.
In traditional terms, a 25th anniversary means silver. Dh & I had our silver wedding anniversary in July 2010 (13 years ago now), and I wrote a post at the time titled "Our silver lining." The gist of the post was that even though my life to that point hadn't turned out the way I had planned, we had each other, and we'd survived.
There are no silver linings with stillbirth. I will never stop grieving our daughter, and wishing that things might have been different. I don't know why so many people facing uncertain pregnancies, as we did, get a happy ending, or, eventually, their "rainbow" (as in "rainbow baby") -- and we didn't.
But. The life I have now is not something I would wish away either. It is what it is... and what it is, is a pretty good life, on balance. I'm grateful for the life we have, while still wondering about the life that might have been. Both things can be possible at once; it's not an "either/or" situation.
I've often said that I had a choice: I could let my grief over my daughter's loss and my childlessness destroy me. Or I could try to live a life that would have made her proud to have me as her mother. It hasn't always been easy, but I like to think that I've done a reasonable job of it over the past 25 years.
Onward.
(I relieved my pregnancy in detail on this blog, 10 years after the fact. See the posts tagged "1998 memories.")
You can find more of this week's #MicroblogMondays posts here.
Sending you tons of love. I hear you on the lottery of rainbows. I loved this: "I'm grateful for the life we have, while still wondering about the life that might have been. Both things can be possible at once; it's not an "either/or" situation."
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Thinking of you and your husband, Loribeth. I understand how it can be both: having a good life while also grieving throughout life. All my love to you. <3
ReplyDeleteAs Lori LL says, "Both/And." You are honouring Katie by always remembering her but at the same time living well. She would have been so proud of you both. 25 years. I send hugs and love across the oceans.
ReplyDeleteShe would have been very proud to have you as a mother. And she would have adored her dad as much as he adores her. Thinking of you both...
ReplyDeleteThis really hit me: "These days, though, I have no idea who she'd be or what she'd be doing. None."
ReplyDeleteAnd yes, both things are possible at once. And yes, I am certain that Katie would be so proud to have you as her mother. Your heart being big enough to encompass the immense loss and love, as well as the resilience to build a worthwhile life of love in spite of that loss.