Not enough...

Some things will never be "enough".

I have over three hundred pictures of Ethan. I cherish each and every one, but they are NOT enough.

I have his scent carefully sealed away in boxes and bags, but his tiny clothing is NOT enough.

I've held onto the three bottles he used and one canister of 2/3 full Nestle Good Start, but it's NOT enough. I will never hear the satisfying gulp of my baby's swallows ever again.

If my video camera didn't start malfunctioning the day he was born, I'd have more than 20 minutes of footage of my son. I could have hundreds of hours of footage and watching it would still NOT be enough.

Every night I go to sleep hoping that I'll dream of Ethan just so I can fool myself into feeling him in my arms again. This day has yet to come, but even so it still would NOT be enough.

Even when I have another baby, he/she will not be enough to replace Ethan. None of my children are capable of filling the void Ethan's passing has left. Each and every one of my babies has a special spot reserved in heart. No not one of them can replace the other. Having surviving children or "being young enough to make more" is NOT enough.

Nothing is enough to make this pain go away. Faith soothes me, but it's not enough to take my heartache away.

Ernest Hemingway is known for writing a very famous six word story. Yes, you read me right - six measly words. There is a writing genre called "flash fiction" and Hemingway's piece is a famous example of it. So why am I talking about Ernest Hemingway? Well, because the six word story was this:

For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn.

Thought provoking, isn't it? I'm sure many parents who have lost a baby find that this story hits very close to home. Hemingway manages to paint the entire picture of heartbreak and closure in six very simple words.

I wish Ethan's death was a piece of flash fiction. If only it were all just a dream - a few minutes in my REM cycle of sleep. The nightmare of losing my baby boy has been more than a flash and I know it's duration will be endless. God, how I wish I that my story was fabricated like Hemingway's! Writing paragraph after paragraph, blog after blog, has NOT been enough.

I miss my son no matter how hard I try NOT to. I miss his smell, his soft skin, his cries. I miss that I will never have the opportunity to see my baby's smile, place my finger in his deep dimple, and hear his laugh. I hate that I sing his lullaby at the cemetery and not in my own home. I hate that I have to kiss the picture on his headstone instead of his face.

I still hurt...every day.

I am his mother, I should have been able to protect him! I know this sounds crazy. Who am I to change fate right? But imagine this and perhaps you will understand why I feel this way....

You are walking with your child/sister/brother/niece/nephew and you see a car speeding around the corner. Your loved one just stepped off the curb. Suddenly...the world appears to move in slow motion, but time hasn't slowed. The accident happens in matter of milliseconds and there was nothing you can do to stop it. You try to run as fast as you can to push your loved one out of harm's way, but the car outruns you. As loud as you try to scream - to get the car to stop - nothing happens. Your loved one dies in front of you. After the impact, the time doesn't seem slow anymore. The rest of the world is still whizzing by as your child/sister/brother/niece/nephew lays lifeless in the street.

That is what it felt like to watch Ethan die. That is why nothing has ever felt like enough. I could not protect my boy. I knew he wasn't going to make it before medicine told me so. Screams echoed in my head, I tried to believe it when people told me that he would make it, but I knew the impact was going to happen. There was nothing I could do to stop his death from happening. Time was ticking even though it felt like it took forever. The three short days we spent in waiting for answers, for medical intervention, for hope, felt like a lifetime. I knew the inevitable. Time slowed, but the world kept whizzing on by. Fate went on as scheduled.

He would have been four months old on Friday. The joy February 20th brought feels like it happened ages ago. I've forgotten what true happiness feels like. February 27th's affect is fresh in my head. The pain that day brought is still here to stay.

The world just keeps whizzing on by...