The Longest Week

I have dreaded this week since the day we lost Cain, and yet, there were days that some part of me did look forward to it because I had hoped that I would be well on my way to healing from the loss of our son.  And in many ways, I am healing. I am definitely in a much better place than I was those nights I awoke in sheer panic terrified that I was the reason my son was gone. And I am finally at a place where I can speak Cain's name and tell his story without completely falling apart. And yes, Ben and I are expecting another wonderful miracle in just a few months, a constant reminder of how thankful I am to be on this road of healing. 

But despite all of that, the one year anniversary of the first and last time I ever saw my son alive has forced me to re-open those wounds that will never be completely healed no matter how much time passes.  Sunday will be exactly one year since God, for reasons I still struggle to understand, took our son to be with him, leaving us with this huge void that nothing will ever fill.  I try not to let my mind relive too much about that day, but despite my will power, it's as if subconsciously my entire body knows that date is approaching. I can feel it in my temperament because I am consistently weepy, as if I am ever on the verge of tears, and I don't know if the next thought that enters my mind will be the one that sends me into full blown hysteria.  Some might say that it is my hormones due to this current pregnancy,  but it's so much more than that. It's that longing to hold the one son I don't have here with me.

I close my eyes, and instantly I am back in that operating room unaware of how drastically my life is about to change.  Part of me wants to scream some warning to myself, but of course, I can't.   Memories flood my being, and with them comes my own flood of tears.  It's my mind telling me all the things we should be doing with Cain.  I should be busy getting ready for his first birthday party.  I should be excited that he's learned to walk and keeping me on my toes to see what he and his older brother have gotten into. I should be doing so many things with him, but should is the operative word.  I could go on for days about the things we should be doing with son, but should won't change the fact that he isn't here, and that those things I should be enjoying will never happen, not in this life. Instead, I have to force myself to live in the present, a present without Cain, only the memory of him. Maybe that's part of the reason why I cling so tightly to these painful memories - because they are all I have of my beautiful son. If I completely block them, what then is left of him?  I must remember because I can't live in world where he doesn't exist, no matter how painful those memories are.

Yes, Sunday will mark one year since I held Cain in my arms and then returned him back to God's. It's been one painful year, yet it has taught me so much, mostly about being thankful for what I have and cherishing every moment God allows me take another breath.  In this year I have learned to hold on a little tighter to Coop, to laugh at things that might have made me angry before, to remember at the end of the day having my family around me is what matters most and relying on God to see me through whatever comes next. I can't say I've walked away from this learning something. No, I haven't walked; I've crawled.  It's been a slow, long process, and it by no means is over. It never will be because I will never truly let go of Cain.  He's always with me. He's forever a part of me, a part of my heart,  just like Coop is and Casen is now.  Whether he's here or in heaven, he's always mine.  I am eternally grateful that I had not only the pleasure of knowing him more intimately than anyone, but that I have the wonderful privilege of calling him my son.