Two very contradictory and visceral memories have been hovering close this past month. They are so fused onto my soul that I’m not just reliving them; I feel transported back.
The first recollection begins right after Madeline was born.
Her birth was a cesarean booked following a routine checkup. This involved a last minute scramble to get our kids taken care of and Colin arriving at the hospital only moments before the operation. Both of my boys had been rushed off to the NICU after their births; but this time when the surgeon finished with me, I was wheeled into recovery, and my daughter was brought to lay on my chest. I gave an audible sigh as I soaked in this moment I had been yearning for. And as my lungs released that long kept breath simultaneously the part of the heart that expands every time you birth a child was replete. As though this internal cavity had been created and filled at the exact same moment. Not a crevice available. Its full capacity realized. This juxtaposition of uncontainable joy yet sufficient peace. Parts pure love, waves of fierce protection, and a plenitude I wonder if only a mother can know.
From his vantage point above, Colin had snapped a photo that seemed to capture the voyeuristic feelings that moment brought.
The second flashback comes less then a year later.
I am again laying in a hospital bed; but this time I can hear my youngest son somewhere down the hallway screaming, my eldest has been charged to strangers his whereabouts unknown to me, and my husband is absent from my bedside. A man walks into the room holding a phone and asks everyone else to leave. The doctor on the other end, almost two hours away, informs me that my daughter is not going to make it. Before I can utter a sound the crowded part of my heart from only months before collapses. Not soundless or swift as it had filled, but rather agonizingly reluctant. The contents clawing desperately to stop the exit leaving behind deep grooves both raw and exposed.
There was no one to capture the moment on film yet I can recall it from above. Every sense in my body numbed except for this awareness of emptiness. Curled up on my side, my body convulsing as my heart poured out, weak sobs escaping as I tried to hide.
Two individual moments on my life’s timeline that are now inseparable. And as much as I would wish to erase that last memory I know I could not if the cost was to also lose the first.
10 thoughts on “First and Last”
I can’t imagine your pain Leanne. I feel so sorry what you had to go through. Not only losing the love of your life but your precious little girl. No words can fill that hole in your heart. HUGS to you & May they be always be close in your heart. They are angels among you. May God bless you & the boys. ❤️🌹❤️
Thanks for always having an encouraging word for me. I’ve appreciated you so much. 💞
I truly have no words Leanne but your grace with your pain is remarkable.
Your words paint a beautiful and tragic picture that is so vivid, and overwhelming. The joy, and the pain, are so clear that I felt them, also.
Thank you for sharing this, Leanne, as it potently describes what you’ve gone through, what you’ve been dealing with, and it also helps me deal with my own pain due to loss.
It’s a gift to know it helps others.
Thank you for putting your raw emotions into words Leanne. Much love and continued strength to you and the boys always.
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Thank you Stacey.
I have no words, but having experienced loss at an early age of my father, I know the pain that comes from the separation. I remember people coming up to me and telling me that they knew how I felt, and I wanted to scream at them to stop saying that because they didn’t know. Ever since then I am careful of the words I speak, so today I don’t speak but send you hugs.
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So important to tread softly on those hearts. 💞