Two years ago today, I felt Kai wasn't moving. I became worried but my mommy alarm bells didn't go off. Come late at night, he still didn't move. I was still worried but I had faith that he was fine. Preparing for labor, I naively thought. He'll probably just resting for the big day. And yet, I cried myself to sleep.
My husband and I were once on a happy journey that turned tragic in an instant. Our beloved son, Kai, was born still on June 16, 2010 at 41 weeks. This is us, the ones who are left behind, grieving our loss. This is me, trying to find solace amid sorrow and despair.
After a year or so, we braved another journey. It wasn't an easy one. In fact, it was fraught with constant fear and worry. We were hopeful but guarded, joyous but expecting nothing lest this new journey turned into another tragedy. But on April 27, 2012, we welcomed our second son and Kai's little brother, Kian, into the world. I wish I could say that his birth had erased all traces of our grief over the loss of Kai. But that wouldn't be truthful, the grief will always be with us as we navigate through parenting our precious second son. Yet, there is healing, the kind that embraces one's broken heart and embittered soul. The kind that urges us to live in honor of Kai and to think of him with love. Always with love.
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