Always Missing Him

Darkness. That’s what I had been submerged in for so long. Dark and empty were my new feelings. My new surroundings. My new existence.

My thoughts raced back to my last memory of happiness.

When I was wrapped in his warmth, and he was wrapped in mine. Like an imperfect puzzle, we fit. I always looked forward to feeling his soft skin especially when I was able to wrap around Him snuggly. He was mine and I was his and there was nothing else that I lived for.

Before, I welcomed darkness because that meant that I would have Him for longer. No more random hour meet ups. No more being pushed to the side while he visited with others and gave the love that was meant for me to another. Darkness was ours and ours alone. He couldn’t be without me, and I couldn’t understand how I was surviving without Him.

That was it. The finality of it all. I wasn’t being. I wasn’t surviving. I was existing. I was a shell of what I used to be. No longer providing warmth and safety. No longer clutched to the side of my favorite person. I was empty with no purpose. I no longer belonged. My title, my need, my reason for existing was all snatched away from me when I had least expected it. My thoughts traveled back to Him and that night.

All was perfect.

He’d laid next to me, and we wrapped ourselves around each other. I knew that he was outgrowing me. I knew that one day he’d get rid of me for something bigger. Something better and more fit to receive all the warmth and love that he had to share. Still, that night; That night was mine and I thought I had many more like it. Mom had tucked me into the mattress so there was no free material moving. I laid across his stomach, comfortably happy.

The feeling of perfection and solace was all consuming. I loved Him and I knew that he loved me.

Mom or Dad would come in every few hours but mostly it was just us two.

It was peaceful and serene for a little while. My warmth was his warmth, and his warmth was mine.

Until it wasn’t.

The night grew colder, and I was trying harder and harder to provide heat, but it was like every second it slipped further and further away.

I will never forget their screams as they tried waking Him like they did every morning.

The agonizing croaking when their screams were too painful to come out. The moment they realized that He was gone.

I shook the thoughts away as I didn’t want to think about that night anymore. I didn’t want to remember the emptiness of the next morning or the grief of not knowing that that night would be my last with Him.

I missed Him.

I missed the reason for my existence.

For many nights after, I was alone in what used to be our happy place. The place where smiling gray elephants graced the bright blue walls. A large comfy rocking chair sat in the corner of the room sad and unused. It was hard to look at the cute little clothes that he would never wear, the small squishy toys that he would never play with, and the sad but colorful room he would never grow into.

It became worse when Mom would come in the room and sit in the rocking chair like she used to before bedtime.

She would cry and clench me to her chest and I would become wet with her tears. I tried my hardest to provide warmth to her like I used to for Him and sometimes it worked. Sometimes she’d tuck her legs under her, lay her head on the side of the rocking chair and breathe me in deeply.

Then there were times she was so sad she never made it to the chair and would curl up on the fluffy rug next to his crib, push me against her face, and scream as loudly as she could.

It was on one of those nights that I was misplaced.

Dad had come in after she’d fallen asleep. He’d lifted her up in his arms while she’d kept me clutched tightly to her chest and laid her in their huge bed. She must have needed to catch up because she slept for days.

Somewhere in between that time I slipped between the bed and the headboard and finally, for a moment, it was just me. I had time to experience my feelings without needing to provide safety and security and warmth. I allowed myself to miss Him. I allowed myself to just feel.

As the days became nights and the nights became weeks, I was stuck in my thoughts of Him with no escape.

I smelled the soft scent of baby powder; I sometimes heard his small cry from a distance even though I knew he wasn’t there.

Worst of all, I heard when their grief turned to happiness again. When their good days were more than the bad ones.

There were nights when they’d stay up all night talking about Him and reminiscing about things.

Then, like time had started over, she started reading his favorite books aloud again.

Her and dad started talking about painting his room and incorporating pinks into the blues of his color scheme.

I was angry. I was jealous. I was hurt.

I didn’t want them to change anything. I didn’t want Him to be forgotten. My existence was purely for Him and yet here they were erasing everything.

“I’m so happy to hear her happy again” Pen sighed.

Mom used Pen to write in her journal daily. Pen was one of her favorites. A gift to mom from her own mother years before.

“Everything is getting back to normal,” Pen added.

I didn’t respond.

She’d only been below with me for a couple days and I already wanted her gone. She was excited about everything just like they were.

I wasn’t happy. There was no reason to be happy anymore. I couldn’t understand how they were happy either.

“They’ve redecorated the nursery” she tried to explain further.

I zoned out not wanting to hear of any of it.

I don’t know when she got the point or if what she had to say was simply over. I was just happy that I was back in my silence.

Pen wouldn’t remain lost forever. She was a forever piece as we liked to call them. She was something Mom would search and turn the house upside down for. She wasn’t replaceable.

I felt a sting and a bit of jealousy.

She would get to stay with mom forever. Until Mom was old and gray and her fingers couldn’t write anymore. She would get to see her grow and she would eventually get passed down to the next generation.

Forever things were cherished and protected. Just like He was. They were never forgotten. Just like He shouldn’t be.

Just as my mind started shifting back to Him and getting lost in sadness I watched as mom’s hand came sweeping through the darkness her other forever thing gracing her finger.

Her fingers dusted the edges of my hem before they tapped against Pen.

“What are you looking for?” I heard Dad ask.

“I dropped my favorite pen. The one my mother had made for me. I think it fell behind the bed.”

Pen rolled towards me as mom’s fingers tapped against her again.

This time when she felt for her, she gripped us both and pulled us out.

At first, I was dropped on the bed as she straightened up and inspected her pen but once her eyes landed my way it was like everything stilled.

She picked me up and clutched me to her chest but this time it was all love and smiles. I could tell that even her tears weren’t grief filled anymore. She brought me to her nose and took a long sniff.

“Is that-?” Dad asked, taking me into his hands.

I was numb as I was sent through the washing machine. Something that I once enjoyed immensely now felt mundane.

I went from angry, to anxious, to devastated, and back to numb as I was tucked around a mattress in a crib.

It was confusing to be somewhere familiar yet so strange.

There were still pieces of Him everywhere. The rocking chair still sitting in the corner next to the bookshelf full of books. The toys that had never been opened and the stuffed animals that surrounded the room were all the same.

However, the gray carpet was now a fluffy pink. There were gray and pink elephants added to the blue and grey ones on the wall, the rocking chair had a pink blanket along the back, and more books were added to include more themes.

I didn’t understand my purpose anymore. For months I lay there taking in every piece of the room trying to understand what was worse. Being back where it all began or hiding from it all in the darkness behind the bed.

My answers came one late evening when I felt warmth again followed by the soft smell of baby powder.

I was afraid to take it all in, afraid to believe that it was actually happening.

Afraid of getting attached to her like I did Him.

I felt great relief that mom and dad took turns for the first few weeks looking after her. Their fear of the unknown was strong. They were constantly making sure the bedding was tucked and away from her face, constantly touching her to make sure she was breathing. Constantly hovering.

They sat in the rocking chair reading every book, article, or whatever they could get their hands on to make sure they did everything right. They contacted specialists and therapists but they all said the same thing. They were doing everything right and He wasn’t their fault. To relax and enjoy their time with Her.

They did, eventually. Once they attached bracelets that watched her breathing and more monitors that allowed them to see and hear Her through the night.

Even with all their precautions they never fully relaxed.

I missed Him every day but at the same time I looked forward to Her.

I looked forward to feeling Her warmth and couldn’t wait for the day I was able to share it back. I daydreamed about the day I would be able to feel the grip of tiny fingers clenching my sides. There was no longer peaceful darkness like I had with Him, only worry that she would grow cold like He did.

As time passed, she got bigger. With her growth came my freedom. I was now free to move in ways that I never did with Him. I was no longer limited to sleep and car seat time. I was Her safety and Her love. I dragged along the ground behind her as She waddled through the house playing with toys and learning the world around her. Wherever She was I wasn’t far. Instead of nights being our best times, it was the day. It was when she woke up and babbled to herself while chewing toothlessly on my sides. It was during long walks when we’d be tucked in the stroller together, the days when I was draped around Mom’s shoulder covering our girl while she fed. The days where we were together. I with her; She with me.

I know that eventually she will outgrow me, and I will miss her just like I miss Him, but she taught me that my love was infinite, and my purpose was forever changing.

Some days I was a toy that she tossed around like a ball and others I was her comforter that provided a sense of safety and security.

I only hoped that my next person loved me as much as she did because I now knew that I would love them as much as I loved her and as much as I still loved Him.