The balance of Mondays

Mondays always had a different feel to them. In school, they were always the day that spoiled the fun and good times of the weekend. When working, they were the days that spoiled sleeping in and doing what "I" wanted to do.

Matthew's due date was a Monday. So, every Monday in the hospital was a day of celebration. The days inched towards Monday and when it came there was no better feeling. Mondays meant accomplishment, they meant more time, they meant we were that much closer to being full term.

Matthew was born in the week hours of a Monday. 4:29 in the morning, before the sun had a chance to come up, but it still counted. After that, Mondays still had that same feeling. Every Monday, Matthew was a week older, a week stronger and surpassed expectations.

Mondays were great.

Until that October day. Matthew died at the wee hours in the morning on a Monday. An hour before his birthday time.

After that, Mondays were such an awful reminder. With each Monday that passed, it was another week that we were separated, it was another week that he should have been a week older.

One week later, on a Monday, Matthew was laid to rest. It had been 11 weeks, exactly, since his birth.

It was as though, Mondays needed a balance. There was just too much joy on a Monday, and then so much sadness that they balanced out.

Nothing of real significance occured again on a Monday. Well, until nearly 2 weeks ago. We watched another Mommy defy the odds, ignore the poorly given advice and delivery her baby boy the natural way. It was absolutely amazing and breathtaking and emotional beyond belief.

I didn't see Matthew be born. I was seperated by a curtain, I suppose so I wouldn't be disgusted with seeing my innards on the outside. But, I can see it in my mind as though there wasn't a curtain there at all. And not in the outisde of my body kind of way. I can perfectly imagine myself laying down in that same position, Dusty above me and my doctor making his finger into a hook and pulling Matthew out.

The following Monday, we got the awful news that two mother's in our community were suffering the loss of their children. A child is your baby for all of time. It is no easier when the child is in their 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s or older or just a small baby, child or teen. A child is a child forever. It is a part of your heart, a part of your soul, a part of your everything.

One of my dearest and most respected friends lost her niece. A precious little girl who has left behind a family who loves her and a community that misses her.

Both children will be laid to rest tomorrow, a Monday.

Mondays have become so bittersweet. There is so much joy and happiness and so much sadness and dispair.

When you have your children, you cannot possibly imagine what it would be like to lose them. You hear stories on the radio, in the news, about a child losing their life and your heart breaks for the family and you think about how you could not imagine that loss, that pain, that grief or how in the world the world could keep living.

When you have lived it, you know the nightmare the mother is living. You know the unexplainable grief, the inexplicable pain, the inability to see past today, the guilt, the sadness, the what if's, the nightmares, the constant battle. And your heart breaks for those poor parents. Those poor siblings, that poor family.

Life will never again be the same for them. They will never again walk on this Earth together, they will never again have the option for a family picture. They will never again be blessed with their laughter, their smile, their kisses, their tears, their smiles, their silly faces, their dramatics, their physical love. They will go to birthday parties for others and wonder what their child would look like, act like and love at that age and stage in their lives. They will celebrate Christmas, fighting back tears, they will never be whole again. And there is nothing anyone or anything can do to change that.

My thoughts and prayers go out to the parents who have had to bury their children. I pray that they find peace and serenity. I pray that they find joy in the memories they have with their children. My deepest sympathies and hugs go out to the family members who are both grieving and trying to support the mourning parents.