Hello my fellow 3:30am friends.
If you’re reading this at a decent hour, hello to you as well. I read a post recently, ”Change” that mentions the 3am hour for babylost parents. The author describes this as her ‘thinking hour’ and tells of embracing this time where she can be undisturbed in her thoughts and grief over her lost child. I think I’m there as well. A few weeks ago, I found this nighttime wakefulness painful. I would lay in bed for a long time and quietly let salty tears soak my face and pillow until finally giving up the hope of sleep. Now I rather enjoy this quiet time. It is for me and Will.
Tonight I awoke, not of my own accord, but because Sam has a cold and began a coughing spell. By the time I had warmed a spoonful of honey to soothe his throat, prompted him to sleep propped up again on his pillows, and listened intently to see if my efforts worked…well, I was up. I stared out the window for a long time as a small snow storm has landed over of us in the dark. I turned on our deck light and watched the sugarsnow fall lightly from the sky so finely as if through a sifter. The snow is so perfect at this hour, mounding on every delicate tree branch and twig, undisturbed on the ground in a sparkling blanket, catching on even the smallest frozen garden remnant and leaf.
3:30 is not so bad.
I got a call from one of my church pastors yesterday to see how we were doing. There are times when I can discuss our progress much like discussing politics or some other intellectual matter and swallow down the lump that forms in my throat at phrases like ‘when the twins come’. But yesterday was not a swallowing down type of day. Instead it was the opposite, as if all those lumps resurface at once and catch in my throat, squeeze up to my mouth and spill out in gasping sobs as I try to sound intelligible. I don’t like to cry like this in front of others. It is a private cry, my own moaning song for Will. It, despite knowing it shouldn’t be so, embarrasses me.
Anyway, he was sweet in his awkwardness discussing the tricky aspects of me carrying around Will. I’m coming to realize that this makes people uncomfortable. Like they want to know the logistics of how it can be that Will remains inside me, now dead, but the act of asking almost tongue ties them. And rightly so, I would be just as curious and fittingly befuddled. Talking about Will’s body hurts, but conversely, NOT talking about him hurts worse.
Back to our conversation, he finally mentioned the prospect of a service for Will, thus bringing on more choking-throat sobs from me, since I have been waiting for that very question for a month. I don’t know if it he was prompted by a few well-meaning church friends of ours. Frankly, I don’t care. Hearing the confirmation that my dear son deserves a funeral fills, ever so slightly, the aching hole in me who wishes Will to be recognized as a ‘real boy’.
Of course we want a service, we’re just not sure how that will look yet. It doesn’t matter for now. I don’t think we will know what the details will be until he comes.
Waiting on the twins is hard. I know that the longer I wait, the better for Abby. But the worse for Will. Even though I know his soul is not in me anymore, I can’t help but see him trapped in some sort of in-between space, waiting for peace.
Or maybe that’s me trapped in that space.
So the last question the pastor asked me, of course, is what we need. Normal and caring question, but how can one answer that in practical terms? I need my son to be alive again. I need to rewind time to the chance to keep his little heart from stopping. I need to know that things will be ok again. I need for Abby to be here, full-term, right now and perfectly healthy. I need to have my twins’ nursery back the way it was supposed to be. I need my heartache to rest, for just a little bit, and let me feel the comfortable fit of my old self again. I need to fastforward time and glimpse that things will be ok in some way or another.
Instead I told him this, “I need for people to know what happened.” What I mean is that, though our close family and friends (of course) are aware of Will’s death, there are so many tangential people in our lives who do not know. And the thought of having to tell our story fresh to every one of them, exhausts my soul. I need people to already know when I run into them, as I surely will do.
If you are someone I know if real-life and are reading this, first of all, please let me know you’re here. It doesn’t have to be through a blog comment, but it helps me know to whom I’m speaking as I put myself on this stage with bright lights blinding me from my audience. Secondly, please let people know about our story. I don’t expect acquaintances to call or send flowers or cards or anything else, I just want people to file this fact away in their heads…
“We knew Eve was pregnant with twins, but one of them has died. His name was Will.”
And, real-life friends, if you want to link to my story, please link to my ‘public blog’, HERE. It is not a very well-written or introspective type of blog, I surely admit to that, but I need this blogspace to remain a sanctuary for me to share my deepest thoughts and worries. If you are here, you’re welcome to stay…you’ve come across me in a meaningful way, most likely via Daven. But I don’t intend this place to be a place of viewership for those on the outer cusp of my life who know me to some extent but wouldn’t feel comfortable coming in my home and sharing a good cry.
I hope that comes across the way I intend.
Saying what I need is a challenge, but surely a worthy one.



