It was suggested to me recently by a well-meaning close friend that perhaps I should look up a book that she read regarding only children.  There is a chapter that discusses, “replacement children”, she tells me.  I cringe.  She goes on to tell me about how after losing a child some people have a child to “replace” the first, and that child often grows up with issues stemming from the inability to live up to the parents expectations, or feeling like they have to be better or best at everything for their deceased sibling.  I cringe.

Her suggestion to read this book was because I have written recent posts about my struggles to both keep Zoë alive in my heart, mind, and soul, while simultaneously raising Esmée.  She was suggesting it to let me know that I am not alone in this struggle, and there are others who have issues not passing along psychological problems to children born after a sibling has passed on.

I appreciate her attempt at this well-meaning advice, and I do not cringe at her giving it to me.  What I cringe at is the author’s term, “replacement child.”  How icky is that!! 

So let me start back from before Zoë was diagnosed, or before we knew anything was wrong with her.  Before our lives were turned upside down Zeppo and I had discussed that we would, (when the time was right), give Zoë a sibling.  Zoë’s sibling is Esmée, and she showed up just a bit too late to meet her big sister.  However, she was wanted long before cancer rocked our world.  Long before Zoë was even born. 

I have always wanted three children.  Zeppo wants two.  We shall see where we end up, but no matter what Esmée has not, and will not be a “replacement” for anyone, especially her big sister!

Now to combat Esmée feeling like she has to “live up to”, her sister’s legacy.  Well, Esmée is on her own journey through life.  She is shaping her own world, and quite frankly to be blunt, it is not hard to surpass the accomplishments of a five month old.  So yes, Esmée will do, say, and become her own person not in the shadow of her sister, but hopefully with the messages that Zoë left behind.  To love, and live as hard as you can, because life is SO short.

Losing Zoë left a hole in our lives.  One that cannot be filled with Esmée, or any other child.  It is a Zoë shaped hole, ten pounds of flesh and bone, of sparkling eyes, and gummy smiles.  I will always have a child that is five months ten days old, even when I am eighty and someone asks, “how many children do you have?”  I will say, “I have a five month old, and a forty-seven year old.”  I also hope that someday I will have a sibling for Esmée to add to that count.

I have dreamed of three children, and who knows if the wind blows in my favor I might just get another baby someday, (when the time is right).

As for not passing on those psychological issues onto Esmée, or her sibling(s).  I think that part of my lamentations of late are because in all reality Zoë passed away only fourteen months ago.  As time passes my grief and morning will change.  Although it will never go away it won’t be so raw. 

Right now Esmée is not of an age that she can understand when Zeppo and I discuss Zoë.  How we miss her.  How we are dealing with our grief.  Zeppo and I talk often about where we are, what we need…  We still check in, and we still support each other.  The best part of my day sometimes is hearing Zeppo tell me about how something reminded him of Zoë, or how he took pause to remember something.  These conversations are private, and personal.  They are times when we can tear up, and cry until we smile.  They are not for Esmée. 

As I have discussed before Esmée will be well aware that she had a sister before her.  But all of our conversations will be age appropriate and organic.  The time will come when I have to discuss big concepts to a little girl.  I don’t know how it will go, and I don’t plan what I will say.  But I do know that Esmée will not ever think that she is here because she is a “replacement”.

I just went to my doctors for my 6 week post-partum check-up.  My doctor asked me all of the usual doctor questions to include questions regarding my state of mind.  Am I depressed she wondered.

I am.  But not because my body is experiencing a change in hormones, or readjusting post-partum, but because I am still in mourning.  I am reminded constantly of Zoë, and just how sick she was.  Not just from the cancer, but even before the cancer. 

Esmée is thriving, and growing, and changing so rapidly.  She in 6 weeks is nearly the same weight, and size that Zoë was in 5 months.  Zoë from the time of birth had extreme colic, coupled with the inability or refusal to sleep.  She spent the majority of her first two months crying, screaming, fussing, and just plain frowning.  Then the last three months battling cancer.

Zoë did not grow.  She did not thrive.

But what is affecting me now is this healthy baby that is in my lap, at my breast, snuggling in my bed.  Esmée is showing me just how an infant can grow, so quickly… How an infant can get chubby rolls, and be placed on her tummy without shrieking, and can be moved once sleeping from a car seat to a crib (without waking!)

As a first time mom with Zoë I knew something was not quite right with her.  I knew that her colic was more or less on the extreme side.  I did my due diligence.  We went to the doctors.  We asked questions.  We went back to the doctors.  I asked for advice from mothers old, and young.  I do not regret….  I am just sad…

I am sad that Zoë was so sick.  That she did not grow.  That she did not thrive.

My doctor asked me how I am handling this depression.  I explained that I have been doing my best to get out of the house as often as I can.   The bright sun and fresh spring weather is helping, as well as getting together with friends and family.  But there is one thing that is really keeping me going.  The thought that Esmée will live to see 163 days, one more day than her sister.

Wednesday, September 18th Esmée will be one day older than her sister.  Zeppo and I will be taking that day for us.  We will celebrate.  We will celebrate Zoë’s life, and Esmée’s life.  We will celebrate for Esmée that she will be setting her own milestones that won’t be compared to Zoë.  We will celebrate that she will continue to grow, and thrive.

I cannot help but think how often in the past year I have lived day to day, trying to reach mini-anniversaries.  How time has been chopped into new milestones (instead of looking forward to 2 months, or 3 months with Esmée I am looking forward to 163 days). 

Grief does such a strange thing to time.  Some days are so difficult.  It feels like I am holding my breath and just waiting for the day to pass.  Then other days I look forward to, I cannot get there fast enough.  What is most difficult is the inability to tell what day will strike me in what way. 

What will September 17th be like?  What will September 18th be like?

I have no way of knowing what these days will bring for me emotionally, but by creating these mini-anniversaries I have given myself days to look forward to, even if they might be difficult.

I cannot wait to celebrate for Esmée.  Sometimes I feel like I am looking at her and thinking of Zoë too much.  I don’t want to miss out on Esmée because I am focusing on Zoë.  I don’t want to stop thinking of Zoë to focus on Esmée.  What I really want is both of my girls…at once…

Since I cannot get what I want, I will struggle like all parents do to give equal time to all of my children.  Celebrating on September 18th will give Esmée a mini special day all of her own, and that I look forward to.

I did not have the ability to post the post that I was writing in my head yesterday.  In some ways this is probably a good thing as I got to sit back and reflect as the day rolled along.

I watched Facebook as post, after post, after post about Mother’s Day went up. It seemed in many ways like a day where kids gave sweet gifts, and moms were thanked, and phrases of love expressed.  Which is all wonderful...but I just could not get into the spirit.

Now this might seem strange because last Mother’s Day I celebrated with my little family just after losing Zoë.  It was a very hard day, but I was happy to know that I had become a mother even if my child was no longer with me.  This year I am mothering Esmée, and yet not feeling all that joyous in Mother’s Day.

I think the reason is that I could not help but shake this feeling of sadness and empathy for those women out there who had lost babies.  Whether in utero, or as an infant, or adult children, it does not matter.  Losing a child is the most tragic event a mother can experience.  I wanted to reach out to those moms and hug them.  I cried tears for them yesterday.

Then I thought of all of those moms who are only moms in dreams.  The women who are suffering from infertility, for lesbians who are searching for a donor, for single women who just want a baby.  I know and love some of these women…and my heart goes out to them on Mother’s Day.  How hard it must be too see pictures of babies, and children, ads on television, and the radio, and gigantic one pound boxes of chocolate in the stores all for MOM.

I felt like I could not post a smiling photo of Esmée with me, without feeling a bit of guilt.  I am so blessed.  I am so lucky.  I am a mom…

Love and Light to all those out there who are moms only in dreams.  May your dreams come true.