2-27-12 Celebration

Today is Austin’s due date. It is a day that Scott and I expected to be filled with excitement and wonder and our first diaper changes and those blissful first moments as a family.  Just as we expected, we were surrounded by our friends and family. There were tears and flowers and balloons.  And it was all to celebrate one thing: Austin.

To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect from this.  Part of me expected to be so distraught that I wouldn’t really know what was going on around me.  Part of me didn’t really expect anyone else to really understand what this day meant to us.  I expected some silent question of how (or why) we should celebrate the life of a person who only lived for nine months, and only within my own body.

I completely underestimated our family and friends.

They got it.

Yes, Scott and I cried through nearly the entire gathering.  We felt every word that was spoken.  We shared every tear shed.  I feel like there was so much love being shared that any attempt to describe it further would be a disservice, but perhaps the greatest moment for all of us was the balloon release.  At the end of our little service, Scott and I released three blue balloons tied together, representing our little family with Austin.  It was both beautiful and cathartic.  It was almost like, in letting go of those balloons, we were letting go of our grief- not Austin, mind you, but our mourning of what might have been.  Moments later, our friends and family released thirty more balloons, and we stood outside watching all of them fly away together, almost as if they were keeping Austin’s balloons company.  It was hard to tear my eyes away, even after they had completely disappeared from sight.

And now, hours later as Scott and I enjoy a bottle of wine and watch television, I feel more than ever that we’re going to be okay.  Different, but okay.  This is the first post I’ve made that I haven’t cried through.  I don’t feel like I’m just waiting for the day to end.   It isn’t that I’m over Austin, but that my thoughts of him, at least for today, are not of what might have been, but of the moments we shared and the promised future.  I feel good, like everything really will be okay. I know that I may feel differently tomorrow and may have problems getting up off the couch or focusing on tasks for longer than half an hour at a time, but today?  We’re going to mark this one under the “good day” column.

I love you, Austin.

- Marci