These eyes
Were you praying, earlier?
No, I was crying.
I thought I heard you talking. Why were you crying?
Because I'm sad.
I love you, mom.
I love you too, honey. It's time for bed.
You want something to drink or anything?
No, thank you though. Sleep well.
Can I have ten bucks tomorrow?
Occasionally, when my husband is out of town, I will sleep on 'his' side of the bed. 'His' side has the lamp and alarm clock, and affords me quicker access to the bathroom. When I was pregnant with Nicholas, it was my mainstay, so that I could comfortably lie on my left side. I have this thing about facing outward on the mattress. I remember how nice it was, being able to gaze out into the hallway, into a portion of the nursery, and see the work in progress. The complete transformation from an oversized storage room into a lush, comfortable suite fit for a prince. I had found the perfect shade of carpet to complement the paint we decided on. Josh had helped his father build the radiator box cover, painted a brilliant white, to match the trim on the new walls and ceiling. Finding mini-blinds and curtains to fit the new windows was a bit of a chore; did I want plain, or character, to match the Pooh decor? Short on space, we opted for a crib with an attached changing table and dresser - we would worry about a closet or cabinet later. Babies don't need a closet. I remember laying in bed, smelling the sawdust and paint, thrilled at the newness of it all yet concerned the aromas may not yet be departed prior to his arrival. Although it was winter, I opened his windows a crack during the day, to let fresh air in. We did not paint the door. The door was the last thing to do. For now, we thought, we'll leave it off of it's hinges, since we need to see and hear inside. We'll use the gate to keep the dogs out. I wished we had a gate to my womb. I wanted to keep him safely inside, but still be able to know what is going on in there. As I peered out into the hall, I gulped back a moan as the tears began to pour. Eleven months. Eleven long, torturous months ago, I was in a panic to get everything done in time. Now, the unpainted door firmly shut in defiance kept me from viewing our hard work. Oh, the time spent in anticipation, preparation, worry, and joy. Time well wasted. Hope deferred. Nothing to be done.
No, I was crying.
I thought I heard you talking. Why were you crying?
Because I'm sad.
I love you, mom.
I love you too, honey. It's time for bed.
You want something to drink or anything?
No, thank you though. Sleep well.
Can I have ten bucks tomorrow?
Occasionally, when my husband is out of town, I will sleep on 'his' side of the bed. 'His' side has the lamp and alarm clock, and affords me quicker access to the bathroom. When I was pregnant with Nicholas, it was my mainstay, so that I could comfortably lie on my left side. I have this thing about facing outward on the mattress. I remember how nice it was, being able to gaze out into the hallway, into a portion of the nursery, and see the work in progress. The complete transformation from an oversized storage room into a lush, comfortable suite fit for a prince. I had found the perfect shade of carpet to complement the paint we decided on. Josh had helped his father build the radiator box cover, painted a brilliant white, to match the trim on the new walls and ceiling. Finding mini-blinds and curtains to fit the new windows was a bit of a chore; did I want plain, or character, to match the Pooh decor? Short on space, we opted for a crib with an attached changing table and dresser - we would worry about a closet or cabinet later. Babies don't need a closet. I remember laying in bed, smelling the sawdust and paint, thrilled at the newness of it all yet concerned the aromas may not yet be departed prior to his arrival. Although it was winter, I opened his windows a crack during the day, to let fresh air in. We did not paint the door. The door was the last thing to do. For now, we thought, we'll leave it off of it's hinges, since we need to see and hear inside. We'll use the gate to keep the dogs out. I wished we had a gate to my womb. I wanted to keep him safely inside, but still be able to know what is going on in there. As I peered out into the hall, I gulped back a moan as the tears began to pour. Eleven months. Eleven long, torturous months ago, I was in a panic to get everything done in time. Now, the unpainted door firmly shut in defiance kept me from viewing our hard work. Oh, the time spent in anticipation, preparation, worry, and joy. Time well wasted. Hope deferred. Nothing to be done.
posted by Julie at 10:56 AM
8 Comments:
I'm so sorry you are feeling so sad. I wish there was something more than posting a comment that I could do. We ALL do.
I hope it helps to know you are in my thoughts, and that you always will be.
I've sat here staring at the screen trying to think of the right thing to say, knowing there is no right thing to say. I wish I could take this anguish from you but then it's this anguish that is so much a part of the story of the little man who was your Nick.
Sending you all my love and a shoulder to cry on anytime of the night or day ((hugs))
I'm sorry Julie. I wish...oh heck...you know what I wish.
((((((((((((Julie))))))))))))
Sorry it's not more, not enough, but it's all I got. Thinking of you.
Closing the door just doesn't shut out the pain enough...I'm sorry you have these memories to deal with, but I'm glad you have such a wonderful support system.
(((((((((((hugs))))))))) Wish i was there to give you one in person...
Just wanted to seed you a ((HUG))!!
That was stark and heartbreaking, Julie, and simply beautiful. I hope that door will be open again soon, and the view lovely and healing.
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