I glanced into the mirror like every other time before, and saw my kids. All 3 of them. Harlow is still rear facing, so I see both her and Hawke in their seat back mirrors.
Ever since Harlow was born, there have been many times I've taken some pictures to look back at later and I'll see bits and pieces of Lyla. There are certain looks that Harlow makes, that look just like her sister. It brings a smile to my face everytime because it's one of those subtle and sweet reminders that she has an older sister. I like seeing Lyla in her. Although they look different, those times she gives a certain look, make me flash to what this life would look like with Lyla here. Sisters.
It's unnerving looking at Hawke sometimes though. It is unreal how much they look alike. When I looked in my rear view mirror, for a split second, I caught a glimpse of Lyla, just riding around in her carseat.
My heart beats fast, I start to feel warm and my eyes start to burn. Everything slows down for I'm sure just a few seconds, but it feels like minutes.
She should be here. Sitting in her carseat. With her brother and sister next to her. I should be looking at three reflections in the mirror, not just two.
I look at Hawkins and see Lyla all the time. It's hard to really deem it as something beautiful or something sorrowful. Although complete opposites, I have to say it's both. When one tugs on your heart, the other pulls it back. It's a tug of war between the beauty and sorrow, the smile and tears, the calm and the panic.
She would be 3 this year.
When Harlow plays 'Lyla's music' or gives her picture in the hallway a kiss, I talk to Harlow happily about her sister. I hear myself saying how she's in heaven with Jesus... How beautiful she is and how we wish she was here... What a great little sister Harlow is for showing her big sister so much love.
I walk away and catch myself in the hallway mirror. I feel pain. I see sadness. I see myself pretending. I feel guilty.
Sometimes the tug of war between happiness and sadness gets to be too overwhelming and I start to feel guilt.
Guilt for feeling or showing sadness, when my rainbows Harlow and Hawkins, are very much here with me and healthy. Shouldn't that be enough?
Guilt for talking about Lyla happily and excitedly with the kids, when really I'm walking away feeling sad that my baby died.
The reality is, it's tough carrying around guilt for simply feeling emotions. The struggle between the highs and lows of grief is what becomes maddening. No matter what end you fall on, there's guilt for being there. On a sad day, I feel guilty for being sad for the sake of Harlow and Hawke who are very much alive and here with me. And on a happy day, I feel guilt for 'forgetting about Lyla'. Even though it's absolutely not possible.
This is a struggle that is going to be never ending. As long as I'm here and without her, I'm going to long for her to be with us.
I remember driving home from the NICU, bringing Hawkins home from the hospital. I looked in the review mirror at 2 kids peacefully sleeping on the ride home. I smiled to myself as I drove home carrying that precious cargo. When I looked back a second time I couldn't help but think I should be looking back at three.
We will always be one less. One less carseat. One less birthday party. One less visit from the tooth fairy. One less stocking to fill. One less graduation. One less wedding.
Society has us thinking our goal is to get back to normal. To put the past behind us. To put our grief behind us. To see the light at the end of the tunnel.
But the truth is, this tunnel is our life. When we keep focusing on the light at the end of the tunnel, everything along the way is a dark blur flying past each side of us. We need to stop thinking the end result in the grief journey, is getting to this proposed happiness that's waiting for us in the presence of the light at the end of the tunnel.
If we take our desperate eyes off the light at the end, we'll notice there's lights along the way. Leading us forward, and lighting our path if we have the courage to continue stepping forward. The light is a shining beacon of hope and faith and a reminder of what waits for us at the end if we have the strength to continue the journey. Although parts of the tunnel are dark, just when we think we can't see enough to take another step, another light lights the way. These two rainbows of mine are on either side of me, walking with me. If I ever think I can't take another step, their lights just shine a little brighter.
No comments:
Post a Comment