There is something about physical comfort when your world
has been turned upside down. There is
nothing like the gentle touch from someone who cares when one of those moments
hit you and you feel overwhelmed by sadness.
There is no feeling like being held up by a big, long hug when you feel
like you can’t stand on your own feet any longer, like your grief and sadness
has made you weak and you just can’t go on.
I thought today I would share some of my memories of these
type of moments. Some that are connected
to deep sadness but others that came before the deep sadness could arrive.
The day we lost Cole was by far the worst day of my life. It
was a Saturday, 12 days before Christmas, and my parents, my brother and his
new (and pregnant) wife and my two older boys who were being babysat by them,
were on their way to a family Christmas.
Geoff had the horrible job of calling them on their cell phone to tell
them that we’d lost one of the babies and weren’t sure how healthy the other
one was.
My parents did what any parents would…dropped what they were
doing (which was difficult since they were ¼ of the way to family Christmas
with 4 other people in the vehicle) and came to be with me. I’ll never ever forget them walking into my
hospital room. First my mom, then my
dad, both with tears in their eyes and soon sobs as they wrapped me in one of
those type of hugs that feels like it will go one forever and that’s ok because
you never want it to stop.
Later that day I had another procedure done to try to save
Cameron’s life (and thankfully it worked beautifully). Geoff was done both emotionally and
physically and also has a very weak stomach for big needles. The procedure done involved a very big needle
being put into my stomach and into my uterus…repeatedly. My parents had a funny discussion about who
would come with me, both of them thinking the other should be the one. In the end, my science loving Dad, came with
me for the procedure and provided more of this physical comfort. He held my hand, he brushed hair out of my
face, rubbed my arms and he wiped off my sweaty forehead and the tears off my
cheeks.
The next day we went home and I cried as we drove into
town. How was it possible that only 3
days prior I had left to go to work and a few appointments and now life would
never, ever be the same again. We parked
in our driveway and I couldn’t move. I
could not bring myself to walk up the driveway and into the house. I didn’t have the energy or the ability. Geoff took my hand and we walked slowly in the
door. Then he held me as I cried knowing
that my dreams of each of us walking in with a baby carrier were forever
shattered.
Those are all pretty sad memories but not all of my memories
of physical comfort are. I can remember
so many times that I would be feeling sad and missing Cole and Cameron would
just instinctively know that Mommy needed a hug. Just this week at church I was caught in a
moment of what if…what if I had four little boys being rowdy, what if I was
planning gifts for four little boys. All
of sudden Cam crawled up on my lap and gave me a huge hug and told me he loved
me. Completely random and exactly what I
needed. It doesn’t even have to be a sad
moment though where his affection takes me by surprise and makes me smile and
just how blessed I am and how much I used to take that kind of stuff for
granted. Sometimes it’s a frustrating
time and he suddenly stops me and says ‘Mom, I need a hug’.
I think a hug, a touch, some form of physical comfort
provides a release of something in our bodies, some chemical or something that
is like a drug to our heart and soul.
Before we experienced this loss I enjoyed hugs but never seemed tuned in
to what a hug can do. Now I know it’s a vital part of my life.
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