It's the little things.

Like when someone is trying to calculate the age of my sister's baby. I instantly calculate how old Teo is based on how long it has been since Leo was born. Or like when someone remarks that they can't believe my sister just had a baby 2 1/2 mo ago, based on how great she looks. I wanted to say "I did, too! 2 mo ago, I had a baby, too". My reaction was without thought - it just rose up inside me and wanted out. It took me a little by surprise. I thought about it. Why did I feel the desire to say that? Was it so I could also receive a comment about how I look? Some attention for my ego? Was it just to tell them about Leo? I realized that their lack of acknowledgment about my recent pregnancy was both a reminder to me that Leo is not here with us and that there are people that don't know. That new acquaintances in my life don't even know about Leo. And might never know about Leo. That is weird to me. Because Leo is such a big part of my life. It feels strange that not everyone knows about him. And if feels strange not to tell everyone about him.

I know that my reactions are normal. I mean, my God, it has only been two months. It's so recent. But the interesting thing...the thing that I have a difficult time explaining to others is that it feels like a lifetime ago. Like it happened to me but just not in this lifetime. I have no anger. No regret. Even no pain surrounding Leo anymore.

I have sadness. Sadness over missing him. Over not being able to know him. Over not being able to kiss his soft squishy face. Over not being able to look into his eyes and have him look into mine. But this sadness is different than pain. I am not just coming to terms with what happened. I am peaceful.

I have two children.

This is something I am getting used to saying. To myself. To others. This is something that would've come naturally without thinking if I had both of my children living, with me, every day.

I was in the bead store the other day fixing the chain that I was given that holds two beautifully simple silver pendants, one with Leo and the other with Max inscribed on them. Another woman was admiring them and asked of their significance. I said proudly, they are my sons. They smiled and then asked their age. I took a quick deep breath, looked at them and said 'one of them is 21 mo old and the other one died'. They said they were sorry and I reassured them that it was O.K., that they didn't know. I left the store, got into my car and softly started to cry. I wondered what they were sorry about. When I say, 'It's OK', am I saying it's OK they asked or it's OK that he died?

I knew I was inviting this question by wearing a necklace with their names on them. I know that the answer will bring discomfort to the person asking. I also know that their unease is not my problem. It feels good to acknowledge both of my sons, not just the living one. I want the world to know about Leo. I want to share him with those that already know about him and those that don't. I want everyone to see that Leo existed. That he is real. I want everyone to see how beautiful he was. I want to feel comfortable saying I have two sons. One of them is living and the other was stillborn and that is OK. That is my story and that is OK. They're both beautiful and they're both with me in their own way. I am a more complete person than I was before Leo.

I am who I am today because I have two sons.

Magical

I love photographs.
They are powerful beyond words.
They are giving of whatever it is you need. They are forever.


This is again, Thompson Lake. I love this photo because it captures what I did not see in person. I love it because it represents light and the magical sun bouncing off the water. I love it because it reminds me of Leo.