It's been seven years. It feels like it was just yesterday and an eternity all at the same time. I still remember seeing him for the first time. His lifeless body dripping with amniotic fluid and a beautiful blue umbilical cord ; the only thing left connecting us as one physically. That brief moment of euphoria that I had looking up to see that he was a boy. It had not completely hit me in that moment that my baby was gone. I knew something was wrong, of course, but there is *always* that hope that a miracle will occur and your story will be the one where the baby comes back to life from your touch or your voice. That wasn't my story. There was no miraculous recovery. My baby, who had only just got here, was gone.
I don't blog much about the pain. Largely because I don't enjoy reliving it. I would rather focus on the positives that he brought into my life. I think this has made people think that I am "over it" or that everything is okay now. I am at that point where I feel like no one even remembers him. No one cares that I still ache to just smell his perfectly curly hair one more time. Or kiss those wonderfully chubby cheeks. I can't talk about him without feeling like people are tired of hearing about it. I mean there is no change, no birthdays, no milestones met, no kindergarten or 1st grade. It's the same story of death every time.
This year there have been a lot of triggers of my pain. Several people have had losses that were almost identical to mine. It reminded me of things that I do not like to relive over and over. I don't like that feeling of darkness that I felt when I walked into the house where my baby was born , while having to acknowledge that he died there too. I remember the first few weeks I would lay in bed hearing the sounds of a baby crying and then crying myself to sleep. The trigger that the sound of an ambulance had in the middle of the night. The tears, the physical aching in my soul. That feeling when you are in a room full of people and feel completely and totally alone because no one else on earth could possible understand your pain. It took me back to that place of emptiness. My heart has an empty space filled with sorrow for my little boy that is missing. My life will never be the same without him. There is no way to go back to the life that was before this happened to me. There is no getting over it. There is no end to this road. There is no end to the sadness and pain. There are no words to describe the depth of pain this kind of loss brings. I miss him. I am *missing* him. One of my close friends was pregnant the same year. Her daughter is a few months younger than he would be and she is also my oldest daughters' best friend. I love her, but sometimes it is a painful reminder of what I don't have. My house is full of children; 3 boys and 2 girls. But he is always missing. I am always wondering what he would have been like. Would he be calm and gentle like his older brother? Or a typical rough boy like is younger brother? Would he be athletic or more into books? Would he be funny or serious? So many things I think about daily. There is and will always be a part of me missing. And nothing will ever fill that void. 7 years. He would be in first grade. I hope that I stay on the straight path and that I will be able to meet him at the gates of Paradise and that this time on Earth without will be more than made up for in the eternal gardens of paradise. I love him. I miss him. But to Allah we belong and to Allah we all return.
***If you have not read his birth story you can read it here. Abdul-Qadir 10/22/2005****