Looking at your baby pics.
Haven’t looked at this photo album since I made it. I made 4 in the months following your death.
I baked – breads, cakes, cookies – but none of it had any taste.
A grayness washed over my life when you died.
A dulling of my senses while sharpening my emotions.
And the pain is brutal.
I do not look back in regret but mostly fondness
and that Longing –
The Mother’s Desire to feel you in my belly again.
To start over – the great dream of middle age
To return to our younger selves but with today’s knowledge. You can’t get experience without time but sometimes both are a bitch.
To give without return.
We do it when our kids are young – then get rewarded by an infant’s smile and a toddler’s kiss – the love from an innocent. Then the kids grow up and the love has to grow also. From perfunctory to preferred. A choice. The metamorphosis of psyche and the physical. Coming to our own conclusions, shaking off our parents, to truly stand in our own. Yes, “in.”
I am coming in to a new version on the Jennifer-Kate continuum and I’ve been watching the changes from my disconnected self I’ve lived in since you died. I’ve spent more time in 3rd party and I’ve wondered if maybe I died and I’m hanging out with “God” reviewing my life play by play. But if I was dead and you are dead, why doesn’t this benevolent omnipotent god let us reunite? Okay, too deep into another thought to follow at this moment…
Looking at the picture after we got home from the hospital, I’m holding you against my chest in one hand, you are so so tiny and I look so so tired. Oh to be that kind of Tired again. Not this heavy cloak of weariness wrapped up in the knowledge you will die in 31 years.
Oh geez. I’m going to vomit…