And so that now cathedrals of sound are singing, are singing...
Yesterday, I caught one of Tori's new songs (leaked! Love it!). Two
songs, actually. But one--one really hit home with me, especially now.
August, that is. The back half of this month has been a bit difficult,
much like last year.
Bean would've turned two. This week, probably.
Hurt and grief...they are funny things, aren't they? Not funny in the ha-ha-ha sense, of course. But funny in the ironic sense, in the how-quickly-they-can-sneak-up-on-you kind of way. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I walk around naively numb the rest of the year. I still feel it. I do. I still carry it with me. But "anniversaries" are always the worst.
People say "having children makes it easier" to endure a miscarriage, to suffer a loss. I suppose, in a sense, it's true. My four babies are my life. But in the same breath, it's cruel to think that you can substitute one for another. It would be like saying that I'm a substitute for my girls' mothers. Not the case. All three of them already have moms. I'm an additional one, sure, but not the first. I will never replace these women. I wouldn't even want to try. It's not about replacement, or at least it shouldn't be. People are irreplaceable.
And in the same breath, I think having children makes it so much harder. I know what I'm missing. I know exactly what I've lost. And no amount of time will ever make it "better". Maybe the hurt will lessen (as it has), but it will never be fully, completely, unequivocally better. I will never not have that tiny hole in my heart.
But it's not about better or worse. It's not about who has suffered more deeply, been gutted more thoroughly. I don't participate in Pain Olympics. Loss is loss and grieving, grieving. There are different levels, of course; many people in this world have lost far more than I have lost. But I've finally forgiven myself for having this tremendous "hang up". It is what it is. It doesn't matter if my loss is trivial to someone else. It's not trivial to me.
Last year, I wrote this letter. I won't say it all again. It's still here. It's still the same sentiment. It's just one year later.
So I won't write a new letter this year. I will, however, share the lyrics to the song "Carry" (off Tori Amos' upcoming album, Night of Hunters). I have never made it through a listen of this song without absolutely bawling. They say it all so perfectly--much more eloquently than any clumsy attempt I could muster...
Love, hold my hand
Help me see with the dawn
That those that have left
Are not gone
But they carry on
As stars looking down
As nature's sons and daughters
Of the heavens
You will not ever be forgotten by me
In the procession of the mighty stars
Your name is sung and tattooed now on my heart
Here I will carry, carry, carry you
Forever
You have touched my life
And so that now cathedrals of sound
Are singing
Are singing
The waves have come
To walk with you
To where you will live
In the land of yore
Land of yore
You will not ever be forgotten by me
In the procession of the mighty stars
Your name is sung and tattooed now on my heart
Here I will carry, carry, carry you
Forever
A slight irony to this song is that one of my tattoos reads the words "i carry your heart" (ee cummings). So fitting that I would fall in love with this song, no?
(Oh, how I still miss you so, so much...)
<3
Bean would've turned two. This week, probably.
Hurt and grief...they are funny things, aren't they? Not funny in the ha-ha-ha sense, of course. But funny in the ironic sense, in the how-quickly-they-can-sneak-up-on-you kind of way. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I walk around naively numb the rest of the year. I still feel it. I do. I still carry it with me. But "anniversaries" are always the worst.
People say "having children makes it easier" to endure a miscarriage, to suffer a loss. I suppose, in a sense, it's true. My four babies are my life. But in the same breath, it's cruel to think that you can substitute one for another. It would be like saying that I'm a substitute for my girls' mothers. Not the case. All three of them already have moms. I'm an additional one, sure, but not the first. I will never replace these women. I wouldn't even want to try. It's not about replacement, or at least it shouldn't be. People are irreplaceable.
And in the same breath, I think having children makes it so much harder. I know what I'm missing. I know exactly what I've lost. And no amount of time will ever make it "better". Maybe the hurt will lessen (as it has), but it will never be fully, completely, unequivocally better. I will never not have that tiny hole in my heart.
But it's not about better or worse. It's not about who has suffered more deeply, been gutted more thoroughly. I don't participate in Pain Olympics. Loss is loss and grieving, grieving. There are different levels, of course; many people in this world have lost far more than I have lost. But I've finally forgiven myself for having this tremendous "hang up". It is what it is. It doesn't matter if my loss is trivial to someone else. It's not trivial to me.
Last year, I wrote this letter. I won't say it all again. It's still here. It's still the same sentiment. It's just one year later.
So I won't write a new letter this year. I will, however, share the lyrics to the song "Carry" (off Tori Amos' upcoming album, Night of Hunters). I have never made it through a listen of this song without absolutely bawling. They say it all so perfectly--much more eloquently than any clumsy attempt I could muster...
Love, hold my hand
Help me see with the dawn
That those that have left
Are not gone
But they carry on
As stars looking down
As nature's sons and daughters
Of the heavens
You will not ever be forgotten by me
In the procession of the mighty stars
Your name is sung and tattooed now on my heart
Here I will carry, carry, carry you
Forever
You have touched my life
And so that now cathedrals of sound
Are singing
Are singing
The waves have come
To walk with you
To where you will live
In the land of yore
Land of yore
You will not ever be forgotten by me
In the procession of the mighty stars
Your name is sung and tattooed now on my heart
Here I will carry, carry, carry you
Forever
A slight irony to this song is that one of my tattoos reads the words "i carry your heart" (ee cummings). So fitting that I would fall in love with this song, no?
(Oh, how I still miss you so, so much...)
<3
Posted by courtney at 8/17/2011 2:24 PM 
Categories: uncategorized
Tags: loss miscarriage grief anniversaries bean love family motherhood playboy mommy heartache
Categories: uncategorized
Tags: loss miscarriage grief anniversaries bean love family motherhood playboy mommy heartache
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