Searching for Safe Harbor

Kai's name in Bodega, CA. This is the St. Teresa of Avila Church. Right beside the street where Alfred Hitchcock filmed one of his movies, "The Birds." Nothing to do with Kai's day but I figured I should include an interesting tidbit on here.

I haven't been a regular churchgoer for years. As a non-practicing Catholic, I attend mass on and off. Sometimes, only on special occasions - Christmas eve, Easter Sunday, specific masses offered for Kai. I've been disheartened by organized religion for so long that I've lost any inkling to actively be a part of the flock, or any flock for that matter.

When Kai died, I asked our midwife, "Is God punishing us?" At that time, I needed to make sense of what happened, to find someone or something to blame. Of course, that was the-little-faith-in-God- that-I-have thinking and talking. I needed to be angry with something incomprehensible and intangible so that I could carry the tremendous pain of Kai's death. I needed to blame God.

And for a time, I was angry. I shook my fist at heaven as I wail and rip my clothes in sheer despair and utter sadness. "Why did you allow this to happen?" "Why our son?" "Why us?" I asked all the why questions, knowing there were simply no answers to them. It was like being left to 'cry-it-out' until I realize for myself that no answers were forthcoming and that I should just accept that my firstborn is dead and no amount of wailing and asking would bring him back.

I haven't come to a point where I fully accept Kai's death. Right now, there's only a certain degree of acceptance in me. Sort of like conceding defeat. There was nothing I could do then and there is nothing I could do now. It's not really a comforting thought but I'm hoping that one day I can learn to accept my firstborn son's death with grace and gratitude in my heart.

My dearest Kai, You are not gone for good. Mommy believes that with all her heart and soul. One day, dear one, we'll be able to embrace each other and make up for the time we lost. I love you with all my heart. 

I've decorated Kai's corner for Easter at the last minute this year. But good thing, I made it before today, Easter Sunday. I was looking for Easter lily cut flowers but they only sell the plant in a pot at the grocery stores. So I decided to get another kind of flower. The name escapes me now but I thought it almost looked like Easter lilies. :) I hope you all had a meaningful Easter!

The pictures above were snapshots from a sort of progress video I made of Kai's nursery back in May 2010.

I remember it was this month last year that the hubby and I decided to pack everything away in Kai's nursery. We've agreed to play host to my brother-in-law and his couple friends who brought along their kid. And since the other two rooms in the house are pretty much taken up by hubby's home office and my studio, we thought of clearing up Kai's nursery and making it into a guest room again.

I was a bit surprised that the decision came easy to us, there was no debating it or mulling over it, considering we were only two months away from Kai's 1st birthday. But I guess it was because deep inside we were preparing ourselves to accept that he is gone and he's not coming back. That no matter how long the baby stuffs stay in that room, he will never use them. Ever.

I'm not one to connect material things to my firstborn son, especially ones that he didn't get to wear or use. These were meant to be his during my pregnancy with him, that's true, but the meaning stopped there when he died. It became only a "what-could-have-been", a "what-should-have-been".

But it doesn't mean it wasn't a part of my whole experience of having him. I had imagined him using that room so many times before he was born. I had imagined him wearing all those clothes, using all those diapers, sleeping on that crib. The hubby and I even 'rehearsed' taking him out of the crib and putting him on the changing table. I imagined him playing in the playpen and sleeping in the swing. I imagined sitting on the rocking chair feeding him. All of it was a prelude to a dream coming true so very soon.

Or so I thought.

When he died, that dream was shattered. I first entered this room when I got back from the hospital empty-handed. The sheer weight of my loss brought me to my knees as I wailed in grief not just over my firstborn son, but also the imagined things that I was looking forward to doing with him and for him in this room. It became a sad room that brought back painful joy and overwhelming despair despite it's cheery appearance.

Yet ten months into our grief, we mustered the courage to come into this room and pack away all the "what-could-have-beens" and "what-should-have-beens". I managed to keep it together and focus on the task at hand. I did surprisingly well with only a minute thought of wishing that Kai could have had the chance to use some of the baby stuffs we were putting away. Minute as it was, that thought tugged painfully at my heart.

But I've come to realize that the baby stuffs and toys, the equipment, the furniture - all these don't define my beloved son's life. They were merely things. They hold little special meaning to me since his skin didn't touch them, his hands didn't play with them, his eyes never gazed upon them in this room. They've simply become one of the casualties of Kai's loss.

And so, I feel a certain detachment towards them. Perhaps, this is why it was a little bit easy to place every single one neatly inside designated plastic bins back then. The hubby and I worked on it methodically and quickly. We didn't linger and reminisce, we just did what was needed to be done since our guests were coming soon and they needed a room to use.

We worked fast but we didn't just throw everything in the bins haphazardly. Everything was neatly folded and categorized according to kind and color. Kai may not have used them at all, but we felt this need to treat them with reverence in honor of our memories of our firstborn while he was in my womb. As I closed the lids on each one, I grieved deeply for Kai but at the same time I also hoped and prayed that they would be used by his future sibling someday.

So now, almost two years into our grief, we opened the plastic bins and brought all the baby stuffs out into the room that was a guest-room-that-became-Kai's nursery-then-back-to-being-a guest room-and now-will-become-a nursery-for-Kai's sibling-TLB. A wave of dejavu hit me. Here we are again with the same baby stuffs in the very same room.

It seems that we are coming full circle with this room and all the baby stuffs Kai never got to use. As I go through them this week for cleaning and laundering, I can't help but think that they are Kai's legacy to his little brother, a welcome present of sorts. This time, I fervently pray that TLB gets to make full use of them when he arrives safe and sound in our arms.