In the months after Vivienne died, I found myself constantly
thinking of the big milestones we would miss having with her – first birthdays,
seeing her take her first steps, or going to her first day of school. I still
have those moments, but they have been overtaken by thinking of all of the
little things we will never get to experience with our little girl or our other
children. Every day, there are thousands of things that remind me of what we
are missing with them. Small, inconsequential, mundane moments that most people
probably don’t notice with their kids – I’m aching for them.
I drive to work and think about what it would be like to
have her in the back seat, babbling or fussing, as I drive her to Grandma’s
house. I come home and think about what it would be like to see her face
smiling back at me. I eat dinner and wonder what foods she would like and not
like. I have a day off and I think about what it would be like to spend the day
with her – doing some shopping, going to the zoo, hanging out and playing at
home. Every day, a thousand little things cross my mind that I’m missing with
my children.
I even have dreams about these everyday activities.
Recently, I woke up in the middle of the night feeling sad and empty because of
a dream I’d had. In it, I was buying baby clothes for Vivienne. That was it. I
have dreams about the incredibly simple act of buying clothes for my daughter,
and they wreck me.
We recently took a vacation, and while it was nice to get
away, it also came with the thousands of reminders of what we will miss. We’ll
never see our children light up with excitement at the prospect of swimming
every day. We’ll never take them to the beach and build sandcastles. We’ll
never see them get over-excited over an ordinary hotel room. We’ll never get to
calm them during a meltdown over having to leave the pool. I know that those of
you with kids cringe at that last one. I’d give anything for it.
The holidays come with this overwhelming mixture of big and
little things.
For Halloween, I not only thought about how I would never
take my kids trick or treating or take pictures of them in costume to show to
everyone. I also thought about how we’ll never have the conversation “what do
you want to be for Halloween this year?” We’ll never go shopping for the costume,
and watch Vivienne proudly display it. We’ll never have those arguments over
not being able to wear the costume all of the time or having to wear it even if
it’s itchy or uncomfortable.
For Thanksgiving, it’s not just about not having her there
for the big family meal. It’s about never doing the drive to our family’s with
her, not getting to watch our family members hold her and play with her, and
never seeing turkeys made from her handprints.
And Christmas isn’t just the loss of visits to Santa and opening
presents on Christmas morning. We’ll never pick out a special Christmas outfit
for her, see her in the Christmas play, sit down with the toy catalog and make
a list for Santa, have the conversations about whether or not Santa is real,
bake Christmas cookies with her, decorate the Christmas tree with her, have her join us for the annual girl's Christmas shopping day, or watch
her play with the boxes and wrapping instead of her new toys. One holiday,
thousands upon thousands of things to miss.
And so these become the latest things for me to grieve.
Every day, a thousand things to mourn that I’ll never get to do with my
children. Beyond the big milestones of birthdays and holidays, I’ll never buy
toys or necessities for my children. I’ll never watch them play outside in the
leaves and the snow. I’ll never have them running around the house playing,
singing, and getting in the way. Everyday parenting moments stolen from us, and
each one feels like another loss.
