I used to love the story, The Monkey's Paw. One of my all time favorites. Nothing so creepy as the thought of something dead coming to the door. Something you invited yourself.
It isn't so much creepy to me anymore as sad. And I get it. I understand that mother's wish. If she had just wished BETTER, I think. If she had just been more specific, more clear in her magical thinking...
I understand more than ever the wish for a real monkey's paw, to have the power over life and death, to be the one in control. Would I make the wish? In a heartbeat. Would I die to do it? In a heartbeat.
In the end, the mother who made the wish says to the horrified father, "You're afraid of your own son? I'm coming! I'm coming!" as she runs to answer the door.
But I get it.
It's insane, it's twisted, it's wrong beyond any natural order of things, and yet, I know her pain, her longing to see her son, to hold him in her arms just one more time, dead, alive, undead, who the hell cares?
Today another mother who lost her child lamented that she didn't have a handprint of her baby. I lamented that I didn't have a picture of William's little feet. Or his whole little body, without all the coverings. We don't have a monkey's paw, we can't wish them back. And yet we're still left wishing for little things we can't have because the cruelty of time has now passed - a handprint, a photo we forgot, a bit of their umbilical cord.
Today, mothers with live babies wished for a full night's sleep.
Today, I slept until noon.
Today, mothers with live babies wished for time to take a shower.
Today, I could care less how I smell.
Today, mothers with live babies wished for time to eat a meal in peace.
Today, I forgot to eat.
Today William would have been three weeks old, if I'd pushed him out alive.
7 comments:
I'm heartbroken for you. Absolutely heartbroken.
I think of these parallels all the time. What a mother of an 8 month old would be doing vs. what I am doing right now. I can tell you she wouldn't be reading babyloss blogs for half the day. I wish you had more pictures of William. I wish you had so much more.
The story of the Monkey's Paw is true horror, and not a good thing to think about. Remember that it always gave you less than you thought, no matter what you asked for, so there's just no winning with it. (And for heaven's sake, stay away from Steven King and Clive Barker these days; you don't need anything that unpleasant to add to your life.)
Hugs, Dear One. I want to wrap you in love, warmth, and comfort to do what little I can to help.
I am always thinking of how lucky those mothers are, to have the wants for me times, versus me, who only wants her baby back. I read your story, it was very moving. What we would give to see our babies again.
This post speaks right to my heart. Visiting the cemetery not long after we buried Gideon, I sat there in the dirt, playing with the toys we took there and talking to our boy. I had this insane urge flash through that primitive part of my brain of digging and clawing at the ground until I got to him and could pick him up and hold him again. I wouldn't actually do it, but I understand that mad, insane want and need to be near them again. It's hard. *hugs*
I love the "Today" poem at the end of this post. Did you write it? Would you mind if I used it some time some where? Let me know (if you wrote it) how you would like me to reference it back to you!
We all have regrets. I never looked at his feet. I made my mom take his going home outfit out of the bag and leave it at home instead of bringing it up to the hospital because I thought it would be too cruel to have a going home outfit when he wasn't going home. As a result, all the pictures I have of him are in the sterile hospital onsie that was way too big for him. So many regrets, but we just never ever know looking back what we will have wished we had done in that moment. In that very moment we simply have to do all we can to survive.
Feel free to use the Today "poem"... yes, they're my words... just link it back to the post, I suppose!
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