I’ve struggled for a long time to describe what it felt like to have this happen to me, to John, to my children. This feeling, this thing...hurts. My co-worker told me yesterday morning that she had a dream about me the night before. In her dream, she and all of my co-workers were hugging me. I kept telling everyone that I was "okay".
And, that's how I roll folks.
I tell everyone that I'm okay when I'm really fucking not. I know this is all very graphic and raw, but it’s true. Niki's birth did not cure my grief! I could have a thousand children after Ethan, and I would still be fucking hurt over losing him. No child can replace another. I'm simply not the same person anymore and I know it. I could laugh an eternity of laughter, but that happiness will never be the same as it was before I lost my baby. As far as I’m concerned, I will live the rest of my live viewing the world as if it were missing a single color.
Perhaps every child who predeceased their parents has their own color. In my world, he was the color"bliss". My bliss. I'm happy, but I'll never be truly blissful. Each moment that goes on without him are moments that I wish I could share with him. When the boys fight, I wish he could be fighting with them. When Niki has a birthday, I wish he could celebrate his four days later. No more Ethan, no more bliss.
I'll always see a shade of gray in the spectrum found in colorful, vibrant happiness.
The most frustrating part for me?
I can't do a thing about it.