Our little guy would have been seven this year. It's so hard to believe. We felt like a superhero theme would be perfect for him. There are soooo many to choose from but we felt like Superman was the most fitting for our super guy.
We bought him a funko pop superman figure for the top of his cake and red and blue candles seemed perfect. His sisters made him cards and we sang happy birthday to him.
Our girls, especially the younger ones, are so sweet while trying to celebrate their big brother. They never got to meet him of course, but they know about him and were happy to tell people it was their brother's birthday. It's hard because their brother's death is "normal" to them and they're excited to tell others about him. In a Zoom kindergarten class though, I love that she wants to share him but am scared of the reaction from other parents and kids. We don't have the privilege of shielding our children from death but I understand wanting to keep that innocence. Our littlest also made sure to announce his birthday to anyone. She was happy to say, "It's my brother's birthday, but he died. We made a cake for him!"
As the years have passed, I haven't felt the heavy weight of grief when November comes. The memory of him is more like a soft feather stroking my cheek versus the stinging slap it used to be. I suppose it's normal and natural that as life has moved forward, my identity as the mom of a preemie who died has been revised and I identify much more as the mom of three girls. The loss of him often feels like it was in a different lifetime. We went to visit his tree recently and this picture speaks to me. My identity as the mom of three girls is always evolving as my girls do while my identity as his mom is steady, never-changing, just as he is.
I have a cousin who is like a sister to me. She was recently hospitalized in preterm labor at only 25 weeks along. The flood of emotions I began to feel and all of the memories that bubbled up to the surface took me by surprise. Her little girl is one day old today and their NICU journey is just beginning. I read through the posts I wrote for Case and focused on each photograph. Case's death was so final and it's hard to remember what it was like when I thought we might be bringing him home. I recall frantically searching for preemie boy clothes so I could dress him when given the chance. I remember the other preemie moms telling me to slow down and just use the clothes the hospital gave us to dress him in because I'd have a lifetime to buy him clothes. How sad it is that I never got to dress him at all. As my cousin's journey begins, I find myself being the mom of a preemie who died once again. Today, that it my identity. I suppose it will wax and wane throughout my life. As time goes on, we become redefined and while being a mom of three girls is my primary role, being Case's mom is always going to be part of who I am. I am grateful that my cousin was able to get support from me during her hospital stay and that her baby seems to be doing just as well as Case was so far. I pray that my cousin's NICU journey continues to be one of promise and joy.
