Three Years Out

It's three years out. And where do I find myself?

As I was laying next to Bea while she fell asleep, I risked opening my eyes (in case she was still looking at me) to look at her.  I tried to superimpose what I can remember of Serenity's face onto Bea's. I know they looked different, but how I can't even think of for myself, let alone put into words.

Serenity's eyebrows were unique, jetting out at the ends, more upwards. They are like someone's in the family, somewhat but not quite. Over the last three years, I have stared at eyebrows in the family.

Serenity didn't have the cheeks that Miss B has had since birth. Her cheeks are actually now a bit more proportional to her head, although they are still her distinguishing feature and receive comments every time we go out.  I also have a sense that Serenity's head was bigger, in proportion to the rest of her. Bea has a tiny little, very round head. Serenity's was more oblong.

Serenity had a bigger mouth, but I think the shape was similar. And I guess her nose and ears were much like Bea's too.

As these memories of Serenity's face fade, I can only tell myself that they are sisters, they probably looked more alike than different. Although, with the wide gene pool mix, I am not sure how true that holds. My sister and I look similar to other people (a store clerk thought we were twins during her last visit), but I think we look really different.

When we look at pictures of my paternal grandmother when she was young, we can see that my one cousin and my sister look strikingly similar to the unwrinkled version of my grandmother. I don't think that I look like she did.  Will we see my grandmother in Bea?

My grandmother lost a daughter, when she was a toddler, due to diabetes. Although we don't directly correspond much about our grief (I write something about it; she responds with a lament about the weather), I feel like it should have made us closer. I plan to go home this summer for a week.  I hope to spend some quiet time with my grandmother. She was never close to us grandkids. Although my sister and I visited her every week. We were to behave at Grandma's. But she is always very well-informed about the family and writes to the grandkids religiously, often without response. Since Serenity and since Bea, I have tried to correspond better with her. Plus, I know her friends and family are dying, and her lifeline of letters is shrinking.

Triple S gets frustrated with how my family is. They talk about the news of the people, but he thinks they don't care, that they care only about gossip. But I know that it is how they show concern. They all know what happens, that so and so is sick, or that one of my dad's cousin's kid is getting bone-marrow transplants. But there won't be a deep emotional discussion about it. But you do get sympathy and get-well cards from my family. I never realized that this was so until I was in a position to receive sympathy cards (with Serenity's death) and get well cards (I'll eventually tell you all what happened after Bea was born).

And birthday cards. My grandmother and my aunt (only living one on that side of the family) have sent me a birthday card through college, and all the moves. This year I will send them birthday cards. I've been unreliable about that in the past.  I hope to make them.

And where does Serenity sit in my extended family? What did they say when they heard the news from my father that she had died? I guess my grandmother would have prayed for her. But I will never know her inner thoughts, then or now. My aunts/unlces sent sympathy cards.

Do they give her a thought now, as this day that is not a birthday approaches?

I think about her. I wonder what a three year old would be like in this house. I wonder what she would look like. Maybe in two years I will have an idea, when Bea is three.

However, for the most part, I think this third year is about peace and acceptance. That sounds good, no? But, the word ambivalence comes to mind these last several days. That doesn't sound quite so good. To be ambivalent about your baby's death. It seems that I should have strong negative feelings about it.

She's dead. There's no amount of crying, pining, or cursing that is going to change that. The day that she was delivered is this week. It is a mark in time. We will bake a simple, light cake again this year. I will dust off her shelf of things, which is as neglected as the rest of the dusting around here.  I will think of her, intentionally. But, Sunday will probably end up much like any other lazy-around-the-house Sunday. Triple S even said something about some football game.

And I am alright with that. He can spend some hours watching that game. As long as he is chasing Bea for that time instead of me!

I can see the snow falling outside. Each big, fluffy flake is meandering down, caught on a drift, taking its time to join the other snowflakes on the ground, unsure of which one to sidle up to.  It's peaceful, because it is light flurries. It's not a blinding, all-encompassing maelstrom.

Not right now.