My sister had her baby. My only sibling brought her first little baby into the world. She brought my nephew, Harrison Brent, into our family.
I think people expect me to be sad about his birth. Or angry my sister has a living baby and I don’t. But I’m not. Actually, having Harrison here has healed part of me. It hasn’t replaced the missing pieces of my heart that’s been broken over and over for years—nothing ever will. But having Harrison in my life has removed some of the pain of never holding a newborn or watching a little one grow up. I know it’s not the same as it would be with my own baby, but it’s the closest thing I may ever experience and I’m not taking that for granted.
Sometimes, we have to choose to heal. We have to give ourselves permission to heal. Not because you want to forget the past or no longer feel the pain, but because sometimes, your heart can’t handle the weight of the grief any more. Your mind has tortured you enough replaying every moment and thinking of every possible thing that you would change. It doesn’t mean you don’t wish things were different, it just means that you understand that it’s not different and there’s nothing you can do to make it better except for open yourself up for healing.
Harrison coming into the world helped me make that choice. I knew that if I didn’t choose to start healing, I couldn’t give him the love he deserves. I would’ve looked at him and thought about the last time I saw my babies and how I have no idea what they’d look like if they were here. I would’ve held him and wished his warmth was my baby’s. And that wouldn’t be fair to him. So I’m allowing myself to heal.
I wish my babies were here to love their cousin with us more than anything. But they’re not. Instead, they’re loving and protecting him from above in ways we can’t do from down here.
Some moments of healing are harder than others and the guilt I feel for choosing to heal is an entirely other thing to work through, but I’m trying. And Harrison helps.
Emily Lindquist