52 weeks ago, the triplets were baptized.  354 days ago.  February 6th.  I think I realized the anniversary date a few days ago.  I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel.  Was it going to feel like my heart was being ripped out like it was during Thanksgiving?  Would it be easier because I was expecting a hard day?  Either way this day was coming.

As I got dressed for church I questioned – What if there is another baptism today?  Do I pray there isn’t?  Do I hope there is?  After all a baptism is something wonderful and beautiful.  Perhaps it would give me something to be hopeful for.  Or perhaps it would twist the knife already stabbing at my chest.

As Jaden and I drove to church, I remembered what I was wearing a year ago.  The new top I bought from TJ Max.  I remembered how all 6 of us had piled into the car that morning.  My family was waiting for us at church as they swept the babies away to dress them in their Packer jerseys.  How I was 40 pounds lighter!  I hadn’t been that skinny since college.  One of the perks to nursing I suppose.

I found my seat in church and first thing I checked was the bulletin.  OK – no baptism today.  A little bit of relief.

As church started I almost waited for them to acknowledge that it was the year mark of the triplet’s baptism.  I felt like I was screaming inside – mention Owen!  Say his name!  Please, let it still be about him!  Please someone recognize today.  Let someone say that they remember what today is.  Am I the only one?  It’s like he is slipping more and more out of the present.  He’s more and more a memory of “last year” rather than still living in today.

I found myself begging Owen to show his face to me.  I found myself confessing how terribly bad I wanted to see his eyes full of life again.  Please Owen, I want to hold you, feel you hold my finger, hear you cry.  My pain came out in tears as I took communion.  I felt that he was near – the child comforting his grieving mother.

The sermon was about healing.  Jesus healed the sick – those with fevers, possessed by demons, the lame.  Would he heal a broken heart the same way?  It’s something you can’t see, but at times it’s as physical as a broken bone.  It stops you dead in your tracks.  I find it hard to breath through the pain.  Yet, no one can see it.  I have to find the energy and the words to explain what is going on with me.

If I cut my finger open and was bleeding, Doug would know why I was crying.  He might help and get me a towel.  He would check on me to see if I was ok – offer to take me to see a doctor.  When I cry because I miss Owen – he doesn’t understand.  What is going on with you?  I tell him I miss Owen.  But it’s still hard for him to care for my invisible pain.  What I need is different each time I miss him.  He can’t see the wound – no one can see the wounds I carry.  Just when you think it’s starting to heal, something rips it wide open again.

So I had a sad day yesterday.  I cried –  boogers and everything.  I laid in bed with my hooded sweatshirt over my face, eyes closed.  I napped.  I had a beer during the Super Bowl.  Sunday could be a terrible day.  Monday would be better.  I’ll let myself have a day – but tomorrow would be better.

Love, Mel