Mama to two beautiful children. My living son Grayson, and my daughter in heaven, Mila. I hope to share our story in a way that helps others
I dreamed about her last night. No, it was not one of those perfect dreams that I long for to see her face, to see her alive. It was a nightmare, one of many I have had since Mila passed away. Although, more than anything this time it was memories, memories from that last day, from the tiny PICU room at an unfamiliar hospital.
I know what triggered it. So many things right now are eating away at my wall, the one that keeps the anxiety at bay and the sadness suppressed. In the middle of a pandemic, who couldn’t see it coming that I would have a reaction of some kind. I should’ve seen it coming, my subconscious letting the fear creep in, but I didn’t. Sometimes I let myself feel stronger than what I am, like the past isn’t often pulling me deeper as I fight for another gasp of air.
I know I’m never going to be “over it”, I know that isn’t a possibility with child loss. I would never want it to be that way. Yet, sometimes I let my mind protect itself from the trauma and I live my life in spurts only letting myself feel the hurt when I can handle it. In times like these though, the worry and the memories creep in when my guard is down. When my wall isn’t prepared for it, when I am sleeping.
I had dozed off on the couch watching tv, my son sprawled out asleep on my chest. I remember thinking how familiar it felt as I drifted off trying and failing to finish our movie.
It felt like her. The weight of his toddler sized body, the way it was positioned, his cold skin from the air off the fan. It felt like holding her little lifeless body against mine did. It took me back to that day.
The day Mila died, I was holding her. The whole hospital stay I had refused to believe that she wouldn’t pull through. When they took her down for a brain scan though, in that little room as I waited, I knew. It was like in one moment I knew this was it, and all I could hear was God telling me that she needed me to hold her.
When the time came and a decision had to be made, I didn’t question it. I just knew. Her body was tired and she needed her mom to hold her. So for two days that’s exactly what I did. I held her. When the machines were unplugged and everyone had said their goodbyes, I held her. When the nurses had cleaned her body and wrapped her back up for me, I held her. While we waited for the funeral home to pick her body up, I held her close to me and prayed for time to stop.
You see, only days before that, my healthy three year old was playing in the backyard with me. Blowing bubbles, going on an ice cream run, making memories. I never saw it coming, I never expected sickness to ravage her tiny body and take her away from me. Just like so many families right now, were living their lives as normal last week. Completely unsuspecting that sickness would come in and flip their world upside down.
I woke after feeling the weight of his body lifted off of mine. I woke with wet eyes and a tight chest. With empty arms and memories as fresh as the day they happened. I dreamed about her last night. And only for a moment, I was back in that hospital room holding my girl.
Questions & Answers
Question: How old is Grayson now?
Answer: Grayson will be 2 years old June 4th, he was born one year after his big sister passed away.
© 2020 Tayler A Rich