Firefly Beat

I’ve shared a lot since Melissa died.
I’ve talked about how hard life is without her, how much it still hurts, how it affects me every single day. While I am open about life after loss, very few people know the intimate details of our last moments together, both when we thought she was still living and once we knew she was gone. Today I’m going to share one of those details.

One of the things we did to celebrate Melissa’s first birthday, and will continue to do for years to come, was indulge in a Peanut Buster Parfait. Sounds nice, right? Well, it was purely selfish. See the thing is, that dessert was the last thing I had before my water broke and we headed off to the hospital to learn our baby no longer had a beating heart.
That dessert was the last time I truly enjoyed something with no feelings of guilt, no sadness in the back of my mind reminding me that a piece of my heart will be missing forever.
That dessert was the last time I was truly happy.

Sure, I’ve been happy since then, but it’s not the same.
There have been so many joyous occasions in the almost 2 years since Melissa has been gone – weddings, healthy babies, birthdays, Christmases, and a healthy-living-breathing Rainbow Baby for us.
I was happy for all of these events, but a cloud was always over my head. I was, and still am, always on the verge of tears.
Weddings remind me that I’ll miss out on one and that my living children will have a sister missing from theirs.
Healthy babies remind me that mine died.
Birthdays remind me that Melissa spends hers in heaven and we spend it without her.
Christmases, and all holidays, remind me that a stocking will always be empty, a place at the dinner table will always be missing.
My Rainbow Baby reminds me that she might not even be here if her sister hadn’t died. Can you imagine how guilty that thought makes me?
Oh, and ice cream? Just seeing ice cream reminds me of Melissa and that’s enough to bring the tears closer to the edge.

One of the biggest differences between those events before and after loss is that my brain is constantly racing and it makes it that much harder to enjoy them. I can’t turn off the thoughts and that makes living in the moment almost impossible.

One of my only saving graces is my living children. They need me most minutes of every day. They are good at keeping me busy, which helps keep me in the moment rather than sinking into the darkness.
They keep my one headlight burning bright.
And if I can feel like I’m driving with one headlight then I think I’ll be ok.

I ain’t changed, but I know I ain’t the same

*One Headlight by The Wallflowers
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