How do you describe missing your child?
I know so many of us have tried, I think we all do it justice and we all fail. It’s indescribable.
His little face graces my dual monitor set up and the last few days I just want so desperately to place my hand between his face and the blanket it lays on. I want to run my finger down the slope of his nose, kiss his forehead and cradle his head in my hand. I reach out to touch him and I know it is so silly but I can’t stop my arm from grasping toward him, and I can just almost touch him. I’m so close and he is so clear but I know that is a moment captured eleven months ago, and there is nothing to reach for, nothing to touch, nowhere for my fingers to land.
That feeling you get, when you just want to pick up and hold your baby? So you do? I have that too, a million times a day and when you go do it I don’t. It feels defective, because this isn’t how it is supposed to work, it should feel wrong. It is the most mistaken feeling you can think of and it doesn’t stop. It is my life now, it is all defective and distorted and while I see light and love and peace, there is still something that pulls at the edge of the picture and runs all the colors askew. It is my son, who is here and not here. Nothing is the same and nothing new is right and nothing ever will be – it is simply that we must learn to live in a world that is cockeyed, and so we are cockeyed too.
I suppose that is a little how it feels. Like we are off kilter, forever unbalanced and living in some sort of harmony that way while the rest of the world is balanced. Except none of you can see that, see the raging vacuum in my heart that rips the very ground out from under my feet while I walk because I stand in your world, all square and functioning and balanced.
Except I am not.
Except I am not.