trilogy of grief

....just like that a perfect pregnancy ends......just like that a beautiful face is reduced to a bag of ashes....just like that....three years go by........
ive decided that life is really quite meaningless....i mean, none of us have definate after-life answers...none of us have cures, or powers of any real meaning....
but, i see, the humans have tried to fill in these gaping holes with meaningful activities.....a first-date rose....a fishing trip.....a sports event................................................a birthday party
 oscar celebrated the third year of his birth into our arms last monday.....what he did, kills me to wonder....what we did.....a buzz lightyear balloon release......how can a crappy mylar balloon bring me such comfort?.....i sent buzz off with a whispered prayer, just like when i handed oscar over to barb.......the last time........
saying the words in my head, like i was weaving him an extra large, extra thick protective blanket......so protective, that he would be safe and warm and find nurishment inside.....and it would last until i found him again, downstream.......
where do i come up with these things? like, even entertaining the thought that he is just a little downsteam.....................and the balloon releases are like little paper boats i fly down the waters to him, just so he sees a sign, that i am still coming for him.........and he gets comfort.........all i want to do......is give him comfort........hold a glass of water to his thirsty lips......brush the silly curls from his eyes.......smell behind his ear....... happy birthdays are just birthdays....with pretend happy.....
...you would have loved your cake, my spirit boy........it was ice cream

....please wait to be seated.....

.....I'm not the seemingly typical babyloss momma.....fluffy pictures, and cutesy tributes to my stillborn don't seem quite right to me, or my relationship with oscar...i tried, but fru-fru didn't bring me any sort of comfort knowing my boy would go on motherless...my ideas of oscar aren't mine.....they are received.....after understanding the blow of watching nurse barb leaving the room for the last time, with oscar in her arms.....i knew it was just the beginning, and things were only gonna get intensely worse......i knew the images in my head wouldn't be those of the oblivious and blissful parents who bring home newborns......pictures of the older sibling with the baby, first bath, asleep in a loving crib......mine were......more C.S.I-inspired.....cold-stainless steel drawers....where oscar's body would be waiting to be dissected to find the blame.....and, even worse.....done for nothing.....no *apparent* cause of death....cut into pieces for nothing......oh, except, i found out my boy had brown eyes.......having to find that out from an autopsy report is crippling.....yep.....no butterflies here......no ribbons and balloons....but, you will find magic here......not the kind you might preconceive....but, if you follow me, you will read my stories....of oscars white noise....his subtle *messages* and directions....wearing the hat of a grieving mother gets too heavy for my head, sometimes, so every now and then, i switch it for antennae.....receiving navigation from the essence of my boy.....