By Marisa Baese
Mommy to Anabel
August 15 – October 2, 2018
Trisomy & Congenital Heart Defect
September, the only full month I had with my daughter. Sounds pretty rough when I say it like that, but it’s not incorrect.
Sure I had nearly 8 months to carry her and try to get to know her, but I feel like my love for her while pregnant was so far from my love for her now. Each day without her somehow strengthens my love for her while simultaneously deepening my grief.
I feel the sickness inside me start to swell, the dark tide crashes over me and sweeps me away. I lay my head on the edge of her big brother’s bed as I stare at his still open eyes, wishing they’d close and he fall asleep. Four years ago this time of year I’d lay my head against Anabel’s crib and wish her eyes open, begging to steal another peek at the beautiful blue.
Fall has always been my favorite season, the changing colors and cool air sweeping in. The crisp and crunchy blades of grass that wet the tops of your tennis shoes only to melt just as soon as the tardy sun makes it’s way over the treetops. The mornings slow down, not as bright as early and the day starts to quiet shortly after getting home. A gentle nudge to wrap things up and get inside before you start to see your breath.
Fall meant breaking out the sheets and blankets at the barn, that comforting smell and sound of the buckles and clips. Wrapping up those we love and tucking them in for a cool autumn night.
My love for Anabel was similar, wrapping her up and tucking her in for the night when I’d leave, the days were never long enough as we balanced time with our son, too. The reminder of this time with golden leaves and pumpkins everywhere brushes off the gutting feeling of what’s to come, where our story ended.
I fill our house with fall, bust out the décor I love so much. Décor that symbolizes change and moving on and saying goodbye. Quieter nights as we kiss August, and summer, goodbye. Her pink birthday balloons hang lower now, softer and less bright.
Quiet glow of candles and pulling a soft blanket round my waist. Looking down I hardly remember being big with Anabel. It was so hard to imagine her precious life inside my belly, I had to protect her as long as I could but that didn’t come without constant worry. How would I know if something changed, if something was wrong?
Slow down, listen, watch the change around you. Pause outside and soak in the lazy rays, the late warmth and early nights. The calm and quiet of a new season, take heart, and let it go.
