If you're still reading at this point, thanks for coming along for the ride. October sure was eventful, eh? I'm personally still holding my breath, but I feel a little bit better having made it through the weekend--well, the lead-up and beginning of the weekend. I was dreading going past those days, and, in all honesty, they were really hard. I made it through the actual point where Calla died, then the night it would have been when we went to the hospital (day-wise/Friday), and now today, the day I would have delivered her, day-wise, or the day we had to say good bye.
Ugh. One step at a time.
So back to the dream, or Day 30. This dream, you realize, is premised on this little guy coming home with us, and staying, and being healthy and whole and ours.
Looking out a few years, I see C and I holding the boys' hands as we stroll down the streets of Paris; taking them to Les Tuileries, eating pain au chocolat, teaching them French, nodding a quiet "bonjour" to the passers-by. I expect to get a little misty eyed as we pass a boutique with frilly little dresses and assorted froufrou in its windows, and offer up a little hug and kiss to Calla.
Or exploring the Grand Canyon together, holding hands, teaching the boys about geology and the passage of time and the smallness that we all are.
Or swinging on hammocks together overlooking the beautiful Italian countryside, outside our little rented farmhouse. The yard is ample enough for the boys to run and chase, as C and I enjoy a little vino from the farmer down the road.
Or driving up to Canada, or Cape Cod, or Connecticut, or Maine. Or camping in the Adirondacks.
Living a happy and adventurous life, showing the boys some of the places C and I loved, finding new favorite spots together. But most importantly, just being together.
Before we had children, C and I had these visions of taking a family vacation, and then an adults-only vacation each year. The second one is not nearly as appealing anymore. What's the fun of having children if I can't explore the world through their eyes, too? (That's not to say I'd turn my nose up at a night away, or even maybe--down the road--a long C-and-me weekend.)
Anyway. I just want to recapture the happiness we once had so easily. I want to be a good mother, I want our children to be happy and curious and adventurous and, most importantly, kind and compassionate. I want to learn how to make our daughter a part of our lives, despite her missing presence. Once, I'd not have thought that was too much to ask. Dare to dream.