Two weeks vs. Eternity

Hudson would be two weeks old today.

It feels like it has been an eternity, and then it seems like it hasn’t been that long at all. I hate every day that passes because it is one day further from when we had Hudson, one day further from when we had hope. But I have to treasure each day that passes too, because it is one day closer to Hudson’s baby brother or baby sister, and it is one day closer to seeing Hudson again.

A friend’s mom posted a link on my Facebook the other day…. “Mother and Child are linked at the Cellular Level.”

The article posits that cells from a developing fetus cross the placenta and become a part of the mother into her old age. These fetal cells help treat illness in the mother, contribute stem cells, generate new neurons in the mother’s brain and even heal the mother’s heart.

My heart could use some healing, Hudson. Get to work.

The article also talks about these fetal cells having the imprint of her father as well as the father’s ancestry – so the Hubs is a part of me forever because of Hudson. And best of all, fetal cells from Hudson may end up being passed to her little bro or little sis.  Hudson will always be a part of our family.

I knew this emotionally. I knew this intangibly. I didn’t know this so concretely.

I am honored to carry a piece of Hudson within my body forever. A part of Hudson is alive and well within me, and I will honor my daughter by making my body a veritable “Baby Growing Tabernacle”, by being the best mother I can be, by being the best person I can be, by making the best out of the worst and sharing Hudson’s story and hope with other people who might be going through a loss.

I’ve gotten a little… maybe superstitious is the word… in the past few days. I’ve seen a little green bug hanging out next to a picture of the Hubs and I and the doggies. It’s been hanging out there for like, 3 days. I don’t know why I thought to myself, “a part of Hudson is there, and she wants to be close to us.” Today we planted some flowers in our backyard, and a white butterfly kept fluttering through. I don’t know why I thought to myself, “That’s Hudson, and she can move wherever she wants and she is beautiful.”

I don’t think I believe in this kind of stuff but I can’t pretend that these thoughts don’t bring me comfort.

In a completely contradictory philosophy on the state of the dead, I go to the belief system I was raised with… that “the dead know nothing”, that dying is like flipping a switch and for Hudson, the next thing she’ll see and experience is being passed into our arms by an angel, or by Jesus himself.

I imagine that Hudson wants to be held by us, to acknowledge us, just as much as we longed for that in her lifetime and as much as we long for that now. I couldn’t help but think, looking down at Hudson while she slipped away in my arms, that she looked… disappointed. Disappointed that she wasn’t going to grow up with us in this lifetime.

I can’t wait to share an eternity with her in the next.

Two weeks would have been amazing. Three days were. A lifetime, an eternity, I cannot even fathom.

I miss you, Baby Girl. Can’t wait to see you again.

4 thoughts on “Two weeks vs. Eternity

  1. Jill says:

    Tonight I was reading your blog again. And I arrived at this post. I read it out loud to my husband. (Well, I tried to, but it was impossible; I kept having to stop and swallow and recompose myself. It’s so familiar and so profoundly painful.) I never heard about the cells of our children living in us. How wonderfully comforting. I really appreciate your writing.. Right now we are living so far away from home and all things familiar. You provide a connection for us. I would do anything to reverse the terrible turn of events in your life. I am just so sorry. Your daughter sounded wonderful.

    • MommaDub says:

      Jill – thank you so much for commenting and for reading. I’ve wanted to connect with you ever since our friend shared your story with me. While I hate knowing there are so many good people who have lost a child, I do find encouragement knowing that these good people are able to move forward so positively, that life can still be full, that even though we can’t explain or understand WHY we got stuck with such a crappy hand, we can have hope for a better hand in the future and cherish the good in the life we do have.

  2. […] the cellular level. Hudson is a part of me, and will be a part of her siblings, in a very real and tangible way. […]

  3. […] pieces of Hudson that are forever a part of me have been hard at work in […]

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