I love you Colin

Oh that baby.  I don't know what I would do...where I would be without him.  People say that phrase all the time- I did too and it wasn't until now that I really learned the deepest meaning of it.  My love for him is the reason I, with great resolve, struggle painfully to take my next step..my next breath some days.  My love for him and for Russ go so incredibly deep and only in Colin's laugh and in his eyes and his sleeping face that I am watching though the monitor right now, in his smart little phrases and thoughts, in his caring spirit, in his beautiful curls, and in his sweet kisses---can I even begin to see glimmer of true joy.  And it's you little boy that makes us laugh during a time when our whole world has been flipped.  On the way to the airport the other morning in dark silence at 3 in the morning (long story why this was happening), Russ and I drove along and out of the quietness, came his sweet little voice--"I was born at Houston.  Isn't that crazy Mommy, Daddy."  Russ and I burst out laughing. Where does he even come up with this.  He told my mom today after she was nagging me a little-imagine that ;), "Be gentle to mommy, Nana."  Again, I was able to laugh-really laugh.

 It happens so rarely these days.  True smiles and real happiness.  We used to have joy- not all the time of course- but our undercurrent really was happiness with occasional sadness and hurt.  Now it is the complete opposite.  My undercurrent is mostly sadness and desperate longing with occasional moments of smiling--distraction but once we leave work, leave our friends, walk away from temporary distraction, we fall to our knees again.  Russ and I often walk around especially early in the morning before Colin wakes up and at night- the nights are so hard- in a daze.  Sometimes our silence is deafeningly loud and our crying so heart wrenching.  I wake up most mornings with my hair behind my ears soaked with tears and I listen sometimes at night or in the early morning to my husband sobbing.  There-is-nothing-worse-I-could-ever-imagine.  Losing my baby sometimes feels like I am dying slowly. Every time I think of his hair and his eyes and things that he said, I am crushed with images of my babies face a terrifying color blue and his body limp as Russ handed him to me in a panic...I relive my worst fear coming true before my eyes that morning and I can't breathe.  I don't mean that philosophically- I physically can't breathe-then I gasp-- suck in air and hear a cry that I have never heard come from myself.  It's as if I am listening to someone else- what is this pain? How long will it last and will we ever be able to "flip" back again?  I honestly don't see how but I need to believe with every part of me that we can get some joy back- real happiness not just temporary distraction smiling--and remember Jacob of course with sadness missing him, but also with joy for knowing him- joy that he is in my heart. 

Our so very gifted counselor who I believe was meant for Russ and I, urges me often to slow down, stay here--in this moment--try to not jump to the fears and worries of the future.  So for now I take anything I can get and I live for those temporary moments and the source of my true joy----I love you Colin.  I love you Russ. 

I love you Jacob.  I want you so badly, that in these hours of the night when I can't stop watching Colin breathe through the monitor, I am not aware of a possibility of going on without you. I don't see how I can when I look at this picture and I all I feel is ridiculous longing to take you to the beach this summer, to hug you, to kiss you harder than I ever have- I feel angry and lost and hopeless and empty...

You were me and are me and always will be a part of every ounce of me and every second and minute of my everyday.  I am still here 90 days later-and for now I am going to resolve again to live for your brother who is just a much my heart and who says he misses you and says your name everyday--and for your daddy--the first Kratzer boy I loved.  And the rest, please help me God-please.