Can you miss something you've never had? A casual friend of mine asked this question on her facebook page a few months back. She was referring to missing a deadline to register for the Boston Marathon, which she wanted to run, but my own mind went directly to my own missed experiences, and I answered "yes." To me, this is what grief is.
Those who have been reading my blog for the last few years know that I had a stillborn daughter in October of 2007. It has been one of the greatest challenges in my life and easily my greatest loss. For the next year or so, I experienced every holiday, birthday, and other events and important dates torn between what was and what might have been. While I tried to put on a smile for my children, my mind always turned to wondering what would have been different if my baby, Renee, had survived. I couldn't help thinking of all the "firsts" I would have experienced with her. I wondered when she would have rolled over, crawled, tasted her first solid foods, and taken her first steps.
During that time, we found out that we were expecting Isaac. He was born into our family just a little over a year after we said hello and goodbye to Renee. I had a lot of mixed emotions about trying to prepare for a new baby while I was still missing our Angel Baby. I had a hard time getting excited about a baby. Oh, but when he was born, he had my heart! I was so happy to have a perfect little boy added to our family! I really couldn't have asked for a smoother birth or a sweeter baby. We lived in blissful ignorance of what the future held for him and us. We had no idea that he had what was essentially a ticking time-bomb on his spinal cord.
Since his injury, I have found myself grieving once more. It is a strange thing when what you feel you have lost is actually still with you. Isaac did not suffer any brain damage, so from the neck up, he is exactly the same boy he was. He is sweet and affectionate, smart and silly, and of course has his own opinions, as every two year old does! But I feel as though a part of pre-injury-Isaac has died. This is the boy who climbed up chairs to find chocolate when we were visiting Grandma and Grandpa Lund this past Christmas. It's the Isaac who ran up and said, "Hi!" while I was at the stove cooking and then ran back to the bedroom to say, "Hi!" to Aaron and then did it again, and again, and again! The boy who wanted to help move a table and ended up with a black eye won't be back. The Isaac who watered flowers with me is gone. What is left is the Isaac who wishes he could water flowers and gets frustrated when he cannot grip the small watering can that he got as a Christmas gift because I knew he would love to have his own. We had great plans for gardening together this spring and summer. But that time is gone. That Isaac is gone.
I know he will go on to learn and excel in new things. He still has many positive traits and abilities that will help him get through life as a quadriplegic. He inspires me with his ability to adapt to his new body. And I am grateful to have him. I cannot express just how grateful I am. For now, the days are a mixture of this gratitude for his life and grief for what is gone. I know one day the lines that separate those emotions will blur and become unrecognizable. One day, I will look at my boy and see only the Isaac-who-is. The Isaac-who-was will always hold a special place in my heart, but he will only live there as a cherished memory.
I believe that all who grieve are experiencing this kind of loss, regardless of how "big" the loss is. We wish we would have been kinder. We wish we had taken the time to get to know someone. We think of how things would have been different, had we known what we know now. Things change and people change and sometimes feelings change. What we wanted before is no longer an option and that grieves us. We mourn for lost futures or changed or limited futures. This is what grief is for me. That feeling of loosing what I have never had, and aching for what might have been.
