Five Years

It's been 5 years. 5 years since we joined a club that no one wants to join. 5 years since our Aaron was born with his eyes closed. I heard that phrase "born with his eyes closed" this weekend and I love it. It fits. This weekend we participated in a Remembrance Walk with Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep. There are no words to describe what it feels like to be in the presence of so many other mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers that have felt the same loss that we have. The emcee quoted some past president (I don't remember who) talking about how there are words to describe children who have lost their parent, and spouses that have lost a spouse, but that there is no word to describe a parent who has lost their child. The coordinator of the walk spoke about how in her loss, the one thing she wants is for people to speak her child's name. Because while her daughter isn't with her in body, she is still her daughter. That's the way I feel. I want to be able to freely tell people that I have 3 children, not just 2. I want them to understand that though Aaron isn't here, though we only have pictures of him with his eyes closed, he's still my son. I am still his mother. I carried him, provided life for him, for 32.5 weeks. I shouldn't have to hide that from people for fear of making them uncomfortable.

Aaron would be starting kindergarten in the fall. I'm watching all of the other moms who were pregnant at the same time as me registering their kids. I think this is one of those missed milestones that will be hard. I'm sure there will be many more of these missed milestones that will catch me off guard. I wonder, would he know how to read? Would he know how to tie his shoes? Would he be a good student? Or one that visits the principal's office regularly? Would he play sports? Who would he be?

And then I feel guilt. If I knew the answers to those questions, if Aaron were here, and I were registering him for kindergarten, we wouldn't have Caleb. By wishing for one child, I'm wishing for the other to be non-existent. I'm caught in the middle of two children. I cannot have one without losing the other. When I am in the middle of one of Caleb's temper tantrums, I wonder what it would have been like with Aaron.