Approximately today a year ago is when Charlie was rolling around and pinched his cord. Little did we know that he had died. We were blissfully awaiting for our weekly appointment and NST. As his mother, I wonder how I didn't know. How did I not realize he wasn't moving anymore. How did I not realize that my little boy had died. What I do know is that I was still feeling movement. Everyone seemed to be their active little selves. I go back to the days before we were told he died and try to figure out when exactly it happend. I've, at times, driven myself crazy trying to pin point it. There wasn't any specific "thing" that happened that would have alarmed me. I wasn't really feeling good on Sunday. That makes me wonder if maybe he didn't really pass away then. As far as Dr. Stewart could tell, Charlie passed away sometime on Monday 9/20. He guessed this by the peeling he had around his nose. I wonder if they had done an ultrasound at that Monday appointment, would they have found his heart had stopped then? We will never know. I don't know that it would matter if we did know.
I have to accept this is my reality. I don't want to. I can't accept this is my reality. My son did not die. He couldn't have. Maybe this is just some weird nightmare between reality and fantasy. Perhaps I am just in some bizarre other dimension. Mother's are not supposed to bury their children. I shouldn't be taking him cupcakes and balloons that he will never enjoy. There shouldn't be a little gray stone as the only physical proof he was alive ever.
I hate this. I hate everything about this. I want my son. I want to hold my son and tell him every day that I love him. I want to kiss my son on his perfect little lips like I do his sisters each day. I want to tickle his little round belly and hear him laugh. I want to feel his little boddy against mine as I read them a bedtime story each night. I want him to rest his little head against my chest so I can stroke his dark brown hair. I want to see what color his eyes would have been.
No matter how much I want, it won't happen. It can never happen.
Instead, I will take cupcakes to his small plot in the cemetary and sing happy birthday to him. I will tie balloons on his shephard's hook. I will take little pumpkins, fall flowers, and halloween decorations and place them on his grave. I will sit next to his small space and cry wishing this wasn't reality.
Ignorance really is bliss.