Remembering, forgetting

Soren is like a mushroom from Alice in Wonderland: from one side he helps me remember,  from another to forget.

I forgot the 18th of May. After a year of marking the days of Harper's birth and death,  I was too caught up in the daily effort of caring for Shea and Soren to remember. It was a day for new memories,  not dwelling on the past.

And yet....

I see her,  in the quirk of Soren's pinky finger. I feel her,  in the touch of his soft, shallow hair. I hear her in his squeaks and smell her when he nurses,  breathing in that uniquely baby scent.  I think of her,  in the dark,  pumping milk.  Lou and I are reminded when we see tiny, adorable girls and are reminded of what we'll never have.  This hits Lou especially hard.

There has been a romper missing. A tiny blue outfit that I remember Shea wearing. It's been cold,  and it's one of the few things we have in a newborn size with long sleeves.

I haven't been able to find it.

Until yesterday.

I was cleaning out the closet and ran into the hospital bag. A Vera Bradley bag,  gifted by my office,  for the express purpose of visiting Harper in the hospital. 
It was still mostly packed. Including that tiny romper. And I remembered. I'd packed that little outfit in anticipation of bringing Harper home the next day.  It was soft and the smallest baby suit we owned,  I thought it would be perfect to take her home in.

So much hope encapsulated in that bag.

So much hope encapsulated in Soren.

Last night,  I watched the movie,  Return to Zero. Trying to get it financed was a huge topic of discussion when I was spending time on the loss boards after Harper died. It's about the aftermath of a stillbirth.

It reminded me of all the well meaning but painful things people say to you after you lose a baby.  The anger,  the grief,  the numbness. The difficulty of being around pregnant friends,  babies.  The pain you're pretty sure will never get better.

But I watched it while nursing Soren. His eyes were bright and wide open, the focused stare of a suckling newborn. 

If not for losing Harper,  there would be no Soren. And even after just a couple of weeks,  that is unimaginable.

"Soren bean" Shea calls him.  He is not afraid or self-conscious about connecting Soren to his big sister. To Shea,  they are both his babies. One here,  one gone.

Dear Harper bean,

This feels like goodbye,  little girl.  Not because I will ever forget you,  not because you won't forever be a member of our family. But because this blog was to heal the pain,  to help me survive the madness of losing you.

Soren is a balm for my pain. I don't think I need this blog for therapeutic purposes any more.

I wish I could see all three of you together. Shea,  Harper,  Soren.

Here's hoping that in the far distant future,  there is a soft,  warm bed where we can all snuggle together. 

I love you,  Harper bean. Thank you for letting me be your mommy.

Soren

Dear Harper bean,

Forgive me for not writing sooner, baby girl, but I figured you've been here all along with us, in spirit.

You have a baby brother, and his name is Soren Kinnor. He is about as happy and healthy a baby as there ever was, continuing to do his best to be the perfect, reassuring rainbow. Ten fingers, ten toes, passing every test by a landslide.

Soren - because we liked the name. And Kinnor, for you, Harper. Your Hebrew name, the closest equivalent to Harper we could find.

We always want him to know that he once had a sister. Without you there would be no Soren. And now that I am head over heels in love with our beautiful baby boy, I realize you have given us yet another gift. Thank you, little bean.

He is a demanding little guy. Wants to eat all the time, unlike either you or Shea. Which is good, because it leaves me less time to think about this place being haunted. Our room is down the hall from where we stayed with you. All the nurses are familiar, although I don't think we're recognizable to them. Identical breast pump, are that hasn't changed.

I wanted to have a happy ending here, in the place where we lost you. And Soren has exceeded my expectations.

I'm exhausted and overwhelmed and still a little sore from surgery, not too mention being quickly reminded of the uncomfortable days of early breastfeeding (particularly with your voracious little brother!), but I couldn't possibly be happier.

He is everything we wanted for you, Harper. And we will do our best to make sure our boys have long and joyful lives.

As one famous Soren (Kierkegaard) put it, "The highest and most beautiful things in life are not to be heard about, nor read about, nor seen, but, if one will, are to be lived."

To you, Harper bean, we dedicate this gorgeous, breathing creation, and we will try to do enough living between us for you, too.

Love, Mommy