Sunday, April 14, 2013
In the middle of singing a song that mentions Heaven, she stops and says, "I don't want baby Garrett to be dead. I want him to be here." She talks and pours out her soul and my heart breaks again. And again. She goes inside when we get home, walks into Mike's office, and just lays her head on his arm. He says goodbye to my brother, they were playing a video game. She and Mike talk. I hear her giggle and everything seems okay again.
After bedtime prayers, she wants to know why she couldn't feel Garrett in my tummy anymore. And why my tummy took care of her, but not him. She wants to know why Grant's father didn't want us to have him and why can't we see Grant anymore because his hair was so soft and his skin was so soft and she wants to feel him again. And she wants to know why God hasn't given us a baby we can keep. I tuck her in, Mike kisses her and makes her smile and she seems okay again.
Walking down the hall, I hear her call me. She is in tears and she says she can't stop thinking about Garrett. I lay down with her and hold her because what else can I do? There aren't any answers. I offer to lay with her until she falls asleep, like we did when she was a baby and so new and so sickly and so hard to comfort. She counts to 100 in her head with her eyes closed. I scratch her back. I tell her to listen to the water of the fish tank and finally, finally she grows heavy and says, "I think I can sleep now, mama. I will see you in the morning."
And I wonder when I will be okay again.