5

"Even a thought, even a possibility, can shatter us and transform us." --Nietzsche

Five months. I didn't think I could make it to five months. Yet, here I am. Here we are. Parents of a dead child, still grieving, still picking up the pieces of a shattered possibility.

I found this photo taken in May while I was revisiting my files. My husband and I were on a cold beach, a month before our tragedy. We looked happy and unafraid of the huge waves in the background. We were expecting a son, a child who would change our life forever. And we were unfazed.

The possibility of becoming parents, we knew it was going to transform us. We were ready to embrace it, to revel in it despite of the challenges it entails. But we never thought of the OTHER possibility. It never crossed our minds.

Now we are here living it for five months. The OTHER possibility of not having Kai around. Of becoming childless parents. It shattered us. It crippled us. We are learning how to walk again. Crawling. Waiting for this possibility to transform us. Into what? I don't know yet.

During the early weeks of my loss, I couldn't look at my pregnancy pictures. I hated them. I hated the fact that I looked so happy and blissful in them. It was as if I was looking at a totally different person. A person so far removed from the recent baby loss mother. I wanted to vandalize the smile on her face.

Where is that blissful mother-to-be? She's here without her expected child. Her belly no longer full of life. Her heart is empty. Her confidence deflated. But to deny her would cast doubt on Kai's very existence. At one point in this life, she was me. I was her. I was with Kai. And Kai was with me.

But I am sad today. So sad. He's not with us. Our dreams for him gone. Five months may be long enough for other people. But it's not for us. I look at this picture - a family photo of sorts - and grieve the possibility that never was all over again.

We love you, Kai. Mommy and daddy wish you were here.

Stop All the Clocks, Cut Off the Telephone

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum,
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message: “He is dead.”
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My morning week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

by W.H. Auden