I sat editing photos, while my children slept and my house was quiet. I listened to a beautiful song about what it is to love completely, with no strings attached, and the tears flowed down my cheeks.
I was supposed to be holding a sweet baby right about now. I was supposed to be recovering from birth and nursing a baby and being sleep deprived but snuggling a sweet one.
Yesterday is the first time that Amelie got to place her hand on my belly and feel the sweet baby move who’s currently growing inside of me.
My prenatal records show 4 pregnancies, and 2 living children.
When a sweet friend says something like, ‘congratulations on your third,’
I can’t seem to find the language to reconcile this being the third child our family will welcome into the world, while we still all want to hold space for River. I cried. I wrote about River a little bit, which I’ve done a few times.
Today, I sat on the couch, with Amelie reading us a book and Justice snuggling next to me – he held and rubbed the river stone tear drop necklace I wear, it was made by my grandfather many years ago and given to me by my dad after we lost River. Justice sat holding it and rubbing the stone, snuggled against me, and just quietly said over and over again, “we miss you, River. I miss you, River.”
The kids will talk about River out of nowhere sometimes and it always takes me by surprise. Our culture does its best to remove us from grief, to distract us and make it disappear. But the kids know better. They know how to grieve. They’re okay with remembering and risking making other people uncomfortable by being honest and raw.
The kids say River’s name. They still tell strangers sometimes, with the same knowing and pride and joy and authenticity that they share about the new baby who’s growing now.
I don’t talk about River much anymore. Sometimes, I find that friends I missed out on talking to for awhile didn’t know we miscarried, and it’s so odd to me. This distinct point on the timeline of our lives. This marker of a moment in time, this being, that changed my world.
The third baby Roquemore.
We wanted you. We’re sad we lost you.