Shortly after being diagnosed with recurrent miscarriages, I was pregnant again. This time, I had answers, a plan, and a few prescriptions. The days passed. I began to believe this pregnancy might last. At some point between the first 100 sticks I peed on and the last baby shower, I stopped saying “this will be our rainbow baby”. I allowed myself to say, “this is our rainbow baby”.
Then, our rainbow baby was born. The months rolled by, full of feedings and diapers and “I’ll eat you up, I love you so“. Late nights and early mornings. Tummy time and story books and just a little Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. We danced this dance. We made it up as we went, day in, day out. Life was perfect.
Then, our rainbow baby died.
I planned to write about that morning, but I can’t. Not yet. Instead, I will write about the sweet boy who brought me to life again. I did not know just how icy my heart had become until it had to hold all the love I felt for him, from his first moment earth-side. Color exploded from everywhere. What once was tinged in darkness was painted in rainbows. I am still in awe that my heart did not completely burst the first time he smiled at me.
My life is diced into pieces of befores and afters. Somewhere in between those, I lost my compassion, my hope, my love, my joy. Easton brought those things back to me.
Living now, in this time of after Easton, there is only one thing greater than the weight of his absence, one thing that will never waver, one thing that can never be taken away: He is my baby, and there is no time, no distance, no suffering that can touch my love for him. This is the hardest time of my life, and yet, it is not the darkest, all because of him. The light he brought with him into this world shines just as brightly now.
That is why he will always be my rainbow baby.