There’s no event, not even the birth of another child wished for, that can absolve the lingering effects of surrendering a baby to death. It simply cannot be.
And it’s not fair of me to place the burden of my healing on him. Maybe I’m alone in this, but part of my heart was doing that. I was expecting his arrival to fill a spot in my soul and that isn’t his responsibility to fill, and he’s not big enough for that.
I wasn’t prepared for that. Logically I know that Wes can’t replace Mia. I get that he can’t heal the parts of my heart that are still raw. But somehow, I let this idea, this dream of “another baby” stand at the threshold of the empty space left by our loss and then expected the fulfilling of that dream to break in and flood the empty.
He’s my son — wholly and completely loved… just as my other babies are wholly and completely loved, though one is absent from our home. Weston doesn’t replace her, he doesn’t make up for the heartbreak of death and loss and grief. Love doesn’t work that way. Love stands on its own while also bringing all things together. (That, friends, is a true miracle.) Weston — you are our miracle.