Telling My Son About His Brothers and Sisters in Heaven.
/I woke up yesterday morning expecting normal conversation with my almost 3 year old. I was taken aback when he pointed to my foot while we were playing legos and said, "Oh no, you use marker."
I got my tattoo last year. My husband designed it to represent the 8 miscarriages we had experienced between 2010-mid 2015. I chose to put it on the top of my foot because I felt it was the safest place that wouldn't expand with age. I didn't want the stream of hearts to suddenly turn into connecting continents on my rear. According to my acupuncturist, the spot I chose connects to the uterus. Ironic how that turned out.
My Facebook post explaining my tattoo read like this:
After experiencing eight miscarriages, three in the last ten months, one would think it would get easier. Yet, it only gets harder. Each miscarriage digging deeper, hurting a little more. I've spent countless hours trying to deconstruct the raw roller coaster of emotions I feel each time I get pregnant, each time wondering if this one would stick - followed by the gut wrenching pain and deep heartache when it turns into another lost baby.
Designed by Josh, this tattoo represents the 8 hearts we will meet in heaven, 8 smiles that shine down on us each day. The imperfection of the shapes mirrors the imperfection of our grief - a process we continue to attempt to attach some sort of meaning to.
In an odd way, this tattoo holds a story, a journey of such, one that is not over but is propelling forward into a new sense of bravery and acceptance.
Interestingly enough, my 3-year-old had never acknowledged my tattoo. If he noticed it, he didn't make a big deal of it, until yesterday. Once he pointed it out, he was obsessed. In my mind I tried to figure out how to tell him what it was. Was it even appropriate to share this information with him? I wish I had prepared myself for this moment. I wish I had prepared a thoughtful response that radically changed his world. The truth is, I didn't. I contemplated lying and saying, "Whoopsie, you're right, Mommy got marker on her." However, that didn't feel right. Despit him being young, he's been around for 6 of my 11 miscarriages. While I haven't gone into much detail with him, he's seen me cry and asked, "Why crying?" How do you respond to a toddler who is clearly in tune with your emotions. My response is always something to the effect of, "You're right, Mommy is crying. I'm sad because my baby went to heaven." He's never asked more details, always content with the simple explanation.
So I responded to his tattoo inquiry with the same simplicity. I said, "I know it looks like marker but its not. That's Mommy's tattoo. See the hearts? Each one represents Mommy' babies in heaven, your brothers and sisters who are with Jesus." He looked at me a little perplexed and then proceeded to count them. After counting all 8 he said, "I see 8 hearts, Mommy." Satisfied with my explanation and his response, he handed me a lego and asked me to continue playing.
I cry as I type this because the weight of the reality is heavy on my heart today. My miscarriages have changed me, they've changed my husband, changed our relationship, and changed our family. I didn't expect to have this conversation with my son at such an early age, hence my lack of preparedness. However, the conversation couldn't have gone any better. The rawness in the moment mimics the sensitivity of the emotions on the topic. I trust whatever Aiden took away from our conversation is enough for today, that's the best I can hope for.