Countdown. D – less than three months to the three year anniversary of Natan’s death.
Who is Natan? I don’t know. He’s my son. He’s buried up north. I didn’t visit his grave on the second anniversary because we had to be half a country away for interviews, and I won’t visit his grave on the third anniversary because we’ll have to be half a continent away again for the same reason. How do I feel about that? Honestly I don’t know. I don’t know if it matters. Maybe it’s all that matters. I don’t know.
I’m completely useless at this, this prolonged death and grief thing. Is Natan still dead? Am I just a self-absorbed, under-developed human being myself for still thinking about it? I’m not berating myself, I just wonder, what does it matter? Is this such a great place to be anyway? I was so certain when he died that he had a neshama, a soul. These days, to be completely honest, I’m not sure any of us do. In those moments when I was closer to death, I was much more certain about life.
In the days and months after, I was more certain, for example, that I’d rather Natan had lived, no matter his condition and health. I don’t know anymore and I might deserve to be told to fuck off for that. In terms of mundane lived experience, however, my life is a whole hell of a lot easier with my full-term son than it would have been with my micro-preemie.
I’d by lying if I said it never occurs to me that I’m better off with Baby Man. Seriously rail at me if you disagree and that’s disrespectful of life. I don’t care. I don’t know. It makes me crazy, at times, that I think it, but I’ve never said I’m perfect.
Don’t tell me it’s “normal,” because I don’t need comfort. I think I’m coming to peace with it, and am able to be honest.
My pregnancy with Baby Man was the luckiest period of my life–I had no reason to expect I would go to my due date. And (right now, maybe it will change) I can’t really summon the energy to wish anything had been different. But it’s not like I can do anything about it, so do my wishes even matter?