Sunday, April 26, 2009

Many evenings I fall asleep on the sofa instead of making it to bed, and Edward has to wake me up, which is sometimes a battle--if he catches me at the wrong moment of sleep, the unawake me will say, irritatedly, "OK, OK, I know!" & the one time he tried to wake me several times and finally gave up, I woke up in a sleep fog, stumbled to bed at 3AM, and said, heartbroken, "Why didn't you wake me up?" It was as though we'd planned a trip together and I hadn't shown up and he'd gone ahead without me. (Or so the sleep-drunk me felt. In the morning, I, like Edward, had no idea what had got into me.)

Most times, though, it's relatively easy: he calls my name, and as my brain starts rising to the surface of sleep, ready to break through into wakefulness, I think: Be careful of the baby who's asleep next to you. And then the dream and the baby evaporate. The dream-baby has never been Gus or Matilda, though the phenomenon started after Gus was born--that is, after I knew what it was like to have a baby asleep on me.

Tomorrow is the 3rd anniversary of my first child's death. It's the 1st time I haven't been pregnant on the day. We're still feeling around for what to do, but I imagine it will include the ocean.

8 comments:

susanstinson said...

Reading this in the hot living room of my apartment, I feel so much presence pressing through the words on the screen. I'm thinking you, Elizabeth, and Edward and Gus and Matilda and Pudding, too, with such a specific kind of almost stately tenderness. Feeling it here, in front of my tall fan, is almost like falling half asleep for a moment. Love to all of you, today and tomorrow. And on.

Sarah said...

Thinking of you, your family and Pudding. The 3rd anniversary of my first daughter's death will be upon me before I know it. I never know what to do...

Hope's Mama said...

I'll stop to think about you and little Pudding on that day. Your Pudding has such a special place in my heart, even though I don't know you and have never met you.

Heather said...

Elizabeth,

My husband, Justin Visnesky, took the photograph that will be the cover of the paperback of An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination. I couldn't wait until next year and I read it last week in one sitting. I think Justin's image perfectly captures the tone of the book: solemn yet hopeful. I am so proud that something so close to us will be associated with your story.

I thought your book was beautiful and heartbreaking, and yes, even funny. My heart ached (aches) for you and Edward and I will be thinking of your family tomorrow.

Sincerely,
Heather Visnesky

Frida said...

My thoughts are with you and your family tomorrow on the anniversary.

My first anniversary loosing our daughter is coming up, and I have no idea of how I will handle it or what we will do that day.

Your book has been such tremendous help for me during this year, I´ve probably read it a hundred times by now. Our stories are very much alike, I also lived abroad when our daughter was born and died.

- Are there plans to have your book translated into Swedish? I wish my family and friend could read it too, but they´re not that comfortable in reading in English.

as gretta grows said...

Thinking of you, Elizabeth - and Pudding, Gus, Matilda, & Edward. I hope this day can be filled with peace and the knowledge that Pudding changed your world for the better, made you the parent/person you are right now and has changed the hearts of all of us who have had the pleasure (and pain) of reading the story of your family's begining.

angie said...

just thinking of you and edward today...abrazos y besos.

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