A Lot and Nothing

My Sweet Baby Heath,

6 months can change a lot.
And it can change nothing.

180 days.  259,200 minutes.  It sounds like a lot when you say it that way.
But to me, it was just a minute ago.


It’s been 6 months. To the minute. 10:43am. 6 months since you took your last breath. 6 months since your beautiful heart stopped beating. 6 months since I thought mine would too. If I’m being honest, I prayed for mine to stop. I prayed that God would take me instead, that He would heal your little body. I’m still angry that those prayers were ignored.  I know what people will say: they weren’t ignored, God’s plan, blah blah blah.  But it wasn’t their baby that they had to lose.  It wasn’t them that had to walk out of the hospital empty-handed.  It wasn’t them that had to make the decision to turn off the machines.  It was us.  You were mine.

6 days old, 9 days left

6 months. Those words don’t seem to mean the same thing anymore. In some ways, it feels like an eternity. In other ways, it feels like 5 minutes ago. Does it ever lessen? Not yet. If it does, does that mean I love you less? I have this unfathomable fear that if I ever become ok (and I surely am not), then it means that I don’t love you enough, or less than Noah and Avery. I know that’s not the case but it’s a recurring thought.

You should be sitting up, rolling over, maybe trying to crawl and finding your cute little toes and fingers. But instead, I’ve been searching for a gravestone. We haven’t gotten one yet because I haven’t found the right now. Is there a “right” one? I try to stay busy with projects around the house, and surely you’ve seen the fight your sister has been giving me lately.  I try to stay distracted so that maybe it will keep your absence from being as noticeable.  It hasn’t worked yet.

Noah and Avery still talk about you and that gives me such joy and such pain. Noah has the picture of the two of you in his room. He said it makes you feel more real.  You have changed every part of our family. We can never go back to what we were before, and I think that’s a good thing. Because if we pretended everything was back to “normal” it would feel like your fight was for nothing, that you didn’t exist. And that can’t have been the case.

11 days old, 4 days left

You are there when I close my eyes, and when I wake up. You are there when I dream and when I’m running errands. The dreams come and go. Sometimes it a replay of your last hours. Sometimes it’s what I wish would have been. Either way, when I wake up, reality is the same and it slaps me harder than any physical weapon could.  Sometimes the paralyzing realization of what is is enough for me to lose my breath.  There are times when I look around at the world and think, “how can it all just keep going?” But it does.  Seconds tick by.  Minutes turn to hours, turn to days.

And before I know it, it’s been 6 months.  You’re gone. Life is upside down. The world is darker. The sun doesn’t shine as bright. The stars are not as brilliant.

And I can’t see how any of that will ever change.

6 months can change a lot.
And it can change nothing.


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