A big milestone

Six months ago today, our little bean was born. One of the worst days of my life, which seems like an awful thing to say about the day a child is born. Usually, that's the sort of thing people list as one of their "best days."

If she were alive (and healthy), today would be a day for, "Wow, I can't believe Harper is six months old already!" and messy morning cereal and Da-da-da-da-da.

My grief counselor cautioned me that six months might be hard. It's one of those milestone days that people struggle with. So far, I'm feeling OK. Recently, I've spent more time looking forwards than backwards. More time laughing than crying. But I still do think a lot about that shadow baby, the one that might have been, which Harper wasn't. Sometimes it feels like that ghost would have made my life better, but other times I realize my life is still very good, even without her there.

As Lou likes to say, "Don't forget you still have a boo." Indeed I do, and even at his whiniest, every day with Shea is fantastic.

Shea asked me what the word "panic" meant a couple of days ago (he heard Lou using the word). I tried to explain it, using as an example, "have you ever looked up and thought you were alone and felt very scared until you found mommy and daddy?"

His response, delivered in cheery excitement, was like something out of Hitchcock. "Yeah, like if Mommy and Daddy died, and you were lost in the forest, and you were all alone, and no one could find you, that's panic!"

If nothing else, the experience with Harper has given me lots of training in the dissonance between toddler words and emotional impact. I hugged him and told him he didn't have to worry about Mommy and Daddy dying, or being left alone. (I don't think he particularly is, but it made me feel better to say it.)

Then he said, "When baby Harper died, and she was very sick, she was panic."

That made me pause, as I wondered if Harper did feel fear, if those last moments of her life were panic inducing, or if she felt reassured that we were there.

"No," I told Shea, "Harper didn't have to be scared, because she knew we were there, and we loved her. She had a mommy and a daddy and a big brother who loved her. So I don't think she was panicked."

"Yeah," said Shea, giving me a big, happy squeeze, before running inside, on to the next exciting thing.

This weekend will be the dedication of Harper's tree and cobblestone at hospice. It makes me wonder if anything will ever feel like a final goodbye? Will there ever be a day, a moment in time, where I'm just completely at peace and not thinking about what could have been?

In any event, happy six months, Harper bean.