love, sorrow and acceptance

"You're in love, aren't you?" Kari asked me sometime, even before I'd first held him, in the fleeting moments right after Blane's birth. It was all I could do to muster a short "yes" through the smile on my face and the tear or two that rolled down my cheek. I couldn't say much. But I didn't have to. She could see it. I'm sure everyone in the room could see it.

I hadn't become very emotionally attached to the baby during the pregnancy. To be honest, I didn't particularly attach to any of the kids while in utero. It's just how I was. But this time, after losing Elsie, the emotional distance I kept was even greater. I suppose it was an emotional self-defense mechanism. But once I could actually see and hold my beautiful baby Blane, that guard quickly and fully fell away. I was, and am, completely and utterly lovestruck.

The profound love I have for my new son is not without its complications, however. Regardless of the stories we've tried to tell ourselves, the simple fact is that Blane wouldn't exist, if Elsie had lived. I'm not sure how to reconcile the feelings that arise from that. How can I be so grateful for his life while knowing that, but for the death of his sister, he wouldn't even be here? Does that also make me grateful for her death? How can I truly mourn the loss of Elsie while knowing that, had she lived, Blane wouldn't have come into this word? Doesn't then my longing for Elsie betray the love for my new son? Does wishing for her also mean not wanting him?

I can't answer those questions. In the weeks since they first began to surface in my mind, I'm coming to realize that I'll never have answers. Slowly I'm coming to see that gratitude and sorrow will coexist. Now. And forever. Acceptance and non-judgement, I'm gradually learning, are the only real answers.

The photo above is of my wedding ring and the ring I have to commemorate Elsie. We'd nicknamed Elsie the fox when Kari was pregnant (a story for another time) before we even knew if she was a girl or a boy. I have no memories of her alive that I can hold onto. The fox has taken on some special meaning to me and, in a way, filled the void of something to remember her by. And so I drew a small simple fox and had it engraved on the inside of the ring. These two rings are the only pieces of jewelry that I have. But I wear them always. One is a reminder of gratitude and commitment while the other is of sorrow and loss. But both represent love. It's a contradiction that I'll never fully reconcile. But that contradiction is now a part of me and, as is the theme here, I'm learning to simply accept it.

This was taken when Blane was only one day old. It is our family, our whole family, with the stuffed fox representing the place that Elsie holds (just like it did before her death).  Blane completed our family but he didn't replace Elsie. We'll always have a piece missing but we'll find wholeness in what we do have. Another contradiction to accept.