Dada

Thanks to the Diez's, we have a large map of the world in our play room. Ian enjoys looking at it and pointing to the different countries, animals, etc. For Antarctica, there is a picture of three penguins--two big ones and one little one. Today, Ian pointed to the penguin family and said, "Penguins!  Baby, mommy, mommy." Then he said, "Baby, two mommies!" Ugh...stab to the heart. He doesn't realize that most families consist of a mommy AND a daddy. He doesn't understand that when I talk about "daddy" that he is actually a precious piece of our family unit that is missing. To Ian, he is almost like a character in a book like Elmo or Pinocchio. He is excited to see Chris's picture but "daddy" is just an abstract idea to him. I know this is a result of his developmental stage but it still hurts.

Claire rarely hears the word "daddy" but she has been saying "mama" for a couple of months. Last week, she started saying "dada" and my heart skipped a beat. It wasn't from the joy that most parents feel when their babies say that word for the first time. It was more like a mixed bag of emotions. First, a sense of awe that she was able to learn the word even with her limited exposure to it and second, a nagging sense of sadness that she'll never get to know the man that embodies that word.

I can hear some of you saying, "They will get to know Chris through your stories and memories." I know, I know. But it isn't the same. It isn't the same as them experiencing a hug from him or garnering a smile from him when one of them has made him proud. It just isn't the same, plain and simple.

Maybe I'm wallowing in some self-pity this week because the 9 month anniversary of Chris's death was on Wednesday. I could have had a baby in that time. Instead, I gave birth to a whole new life that I didn't ask for. And now I'm dealing with the sleepless nights and emotional highs and lows of this new "baby" of mine...grief. It isn't as cute or cuddly as a newborn and yet I still have to care for it 24 hours a day. 

I'm tired! I look forward to the time that my grief baby feels like less of a constant drain and more like a silent companion. I know I can't rush the process but I will relish the day when hearing the word "dada" brings a smile to my face.

This is us without you, Chris.  We miss you, daddy.