Tuesday, we meet yet again. Instead of the happiness of each passing week I wanted with Jensen, I get further away from my last connection to him. I wish I could say each lessens the pain, but it doesn’t. Moving forward and processing grief is more complicated than that. His absence is so loud and the only thing I can focus on, especially on Tuesdays. I can imagine him everywhere I go, so I’ve been trying to fill the blank spaces with what reminds me of him. Continuously incorporating him so beautifully into our home and always in our hearts.
Today I can’t keep my eyes off of his new block; his ‘J’ block. It stays in our living room, where his swing would be. I look over there and imagine him so happy and content going back and forth. Then when I’m spiraling into the darkest parts, I look
at his block. His initial means so much to me. Anthony call him Baby J as soon as we found out he was our little boy. I feel like once I got pregnant, J’s popped up everywhere. It seems fitting to keep them in our house and all around me. Even after we have his pictures hanging up, his J will always hold so much hope and happiness for me.
Grief weighs so heavily on me. Most days I do not feel like getting out of bed to participate in ‘real’ life. When I actually do have the courage to go out in the world, it never fails that I head something that makes me want to run and hide in bed. This list has been weighing on me for weeks, with the last on it just recently being said to me.
This list isn’t meant to stir up trouble or make anyone weary of saying anything about Jensen to me. Believe me, I love talking about Jensen and sharing his story with others. There’s 38 weeks of his life that I proudly talk about. I have so many ultrasound pictures I’ll show you. I will talk about grief and baby loss. These are just the topics that are going on in my head every second about Jensen and the past fourteen weeks.
Good thing you didn’t get attached.
He wasn’t a puppy. Jensen was my child. He was a sweet baby who has a family that loves him more than anything. I see the picture of his first shoes and just want to cry thinking that people didn’t think I was attached to him. Or I feel as if that he wore these shoes or I brought Jensen home with me, I would be worse off than I already am. I don’t know, I just can’t wrap my head around it. How could I not love him just because he was stillborn. He died and I’m still attached to him. I was ‘attached’ the second I saw the positive sign when I took the pregnancy test. I had 38 full weeks with Jensen and had a lifetime of, well, life planned for the both of us. Just because he died doesn’t mean he didn’t exist and my love for him just ended. He is and always will be my first-born son; I’ll always be attached to him.