Last evening, Spencer took me to dinner and to see Jim Brickman in concert, which by the way, was advertised as "An evening of romance with Jim Brickman." I married a great man! Truthfully, I could sit an listen to Jim Brickman play the piano for hours... he is extremely talented and his music is beautiful.
As we were parking the car and surveying the people who were walking towards the direction of the theater, I realized that most of the attendees were about 15-20 years older than us, which was perfectly fine with me. It was nice not to be confronted with images of what I feel like our life should look like and what I deeply desire for it to be... images of a husband and wife with their infant in a carrier; images of a mom walking while holding her little boy's hand.
And then it happened. It always happens when you least expect it. And no, babies were not in attendance at the Jim Brickman concert.
If you have viewed my other blog that's linked to this one, you'll notice that there's a beautiful song called "Never Alone" playing as you read through the letters I have written to Isaac; it features Jim Brickman. And he played it... last night. And while it was beautiful... I was bawling.
I had first stumbled across this song as I was trying to find the perfect one that would convey what a mom would want to tell her son, and I just really connected with it. But last night, as I listened, all I could think of was Isaac... how much I love him and how much I miss him... how much I want to just be able to hold him tight again... and how there is so much more I want to say to him and love that I want to give him, but can't.
A few people recently have shared with me a quote (from the show ER nonetheless!), the essence of which I had also read about in one of the (many) books I am reading: "When your parents die, your and orphan. When your partner dies, your a widow. When your child dies, there are no words for that."
Although Webster may not have defined one in his dictionary, I believe there is one, well two actually... a mother or a father. It just looks different.
You see, when your grandparents die, are you suddenly no longer a grandchild? And once your parents pass away, are you no longer their son or daughter? You don't suddenly cease to be these things. And although burying your child turns the world on its head feels so against the "natural" order of things, is it really any different? I don't think so. Instead of being a mom who gets to raise her son, I am a mom who will always be missing him. But I'm still a mom.
The writers of the quote from ER were right about one thing though... When your child dies, there are no words for that. It truly is a time of unspeakable grief and heartache. I guess that's why Job's friends didn't say anything to him for those seven days in which they just sat on the groung and mourned with him.
You're never alone
I'll be in every beat of your heart
When you face the unknown
Wherever you fly
This isn't goodbye
My love will follow you stay with you
Baby you're never alone