I am so torn about how to feel this Thanksgiving. It has never been easier or harder for me to reflect on what I’m thankful for. I’m not thankful that we lost you, but I am thankful for what losing you has taught me. That irony is not lost on me.
Today I remembered a quote I came across this summer: “Sometimes it takes sadness to know happiness, noise to appreciate silence and absence to value presence.” Channeling this philosophy, I’ve made peace with the irony.
I am thankful:
For your Dad. He is the backbone of my happiness, my heart, my soulmate. I have never felt luckier that I get to go through this life, for better or for worse, with such a strong, courageous, kind man.
For our family and friends. I say this every year, but this year I’m thankful because they quite literally brought us back to life. They were there to pick up the pieces on “the worst day” and they have continued to cheer us on and give us hope ever since.
For your sibling. Recently, I’ve felt the first flutters of this new life growing inside of me. I am thankful for those moments of reassurance, I am thankful for the 18 weeks he/she has been with us and pray for decades more. I am thankful for every appointment we can hear their heart beat. I’m thankful that all the dreams we had of raising a little one can still be realized.
For heartbeats. Each day since the worst day has been one step out of darkness. I am thankful that I get the opportunity to experience life. I am thankful to know pain because it gives me greater appreciation for joy. I am thankful to know loss because it gives me greater love for life.
For music. Because it sings my sorrow so I don’t have to speak it all the time.
For nature. I’m thankful for sunshine and cool breezes and hummingbirds and butterflies and ladybugs on your Dad’s arm at the cemetery. These are all things that make us smile and allow us to feel your presence.
And most of all, I’m thankful for you.
I am thankful for the 38 weeks you were alive. I am thankful that I got to hold you and kiss you and see the face I dreamed about for nine months. You have taught me the meaning of a mother’s love. You have taught me what it means to have “mom strength”. I’m thankful that I can still feel you close, that you are not lost to me. I’m thankful that you continue to be a real, tangible part of my everyday.
Today and always, I’m thankful and proud to be your mom and I love you more than you will ever know.
Happy Thanksgiving, Rubes.