I just finished wrapping your present, Frost. Your bell. Earlier today I spent time in your woods. Tonight I will light a candle for you. And now, the most important, your letter. These are the earthly messages of happy birthday that I have sent to you every year since you died. Except for last year, last year I could not write to you. Last year I was not ready.
It’s very windy today, no snow. In your woods the wind is less and the quiet is more. Walking through, I could smell the snow. I could feel that it wanted to be there for us today. As soon as I reached the tree line, everything slowed and the day owl flew from his perch on one side of the creek to a large tree opposite. He was welcoming me in. I didn’t see him the rest of my time in there. He was just there to greet, not to guide. I let the brambles and covered path tell me where to go today.
First, I walked to the water, as always. I check how high or low. And to listen, how fast or slow. It was still today, despite the wind. Not frozen, like it was in your birth year. Just still. So I said a kind word to the water and as I turned my gaze up toward the trees, I was answered in kind, as two V’s of geese flew above, honking their hello. The trees and their barks and branches so different now than from our first visits here.
A year and a half ago, in late May, a tornado blew across our woods. It took the tops of many of the trees. Broke them down, and twisted their wooden hearts. As I bumbled my way through today, I saw uprooted elms, bent low hedges and snaking vines, roping up as high as the broken sentinels would allow them to. Some of the fallen trunks had crossed the banks of the creek, making for many new bridges to the other side. Before the tornado, I can only remember one such spot. I walked along the collapsed giants, still strong enough to hold me. I looked around from my new perch and listened again. I heard sounds from those trees still standing. It seemed a creaking, ancient language, and to me they were saying, “Eleven. Eleven years we have kept your boy for you.” They have kept you safe for me Frost. I still feel you there, even though it has changed so.
I listened again, the trees had quieted to allow a tiny downy woodpecker to be heard. I looked up and found her hopping and pecking on the strongest looking tree, one that had not lost its top and whose wood remained rich. She was showing me that there was still deep strength in the middle of our woods, despite the destruction and change all around. The roots held on. The birds still chose to live there. Then the wind picked up again, and my path became more and more closed off. I took this as the trees telling me it was time to go.
I turned back, but there were too many spiny shrubs, so I went forward a little and around to a new space I hadn’t noticed before. In an almost perfect circle, trunks and large branches had fallen creating a sort of hideaway. I entered the enclosure and found a seat. As I rested there, I thought to myself that if I were to ever live in these woods that this would be my home. The moss covered room that would hold my belongings, my treasures. That would cushion my sleeping head, as I dreamt of the stars which were twinkling right on the other side of my closed eyes. As I sat in this good place Frost, I could feel him in there with us for the first time. And then, at last, the tears came.
For you see, two months before that tornado, on March 22, 2019, your little brother, Darby, was born. He was tinier, and came earlier than you Frost. He couldn’t stay with us either. I think he was always meant to be an angel, just like you. He lived for two hours outside of my body, and we held him and loved him, and told him about everyone that he would soon get to meet. Especially you.
At the time, I had not told very many people I was pregnant. I don’t know why. After he died, I did not want to tell anyone. I did not want to explain. I did not want to think. I did not want to answer. I did not want to feel. I did not want to hurt. But mostly, I did not want to remember the pain and guilt of losing a child. I had lived it before, and I don’t know how I came through that grief. Why did this happen again?
I didn’t want the same wounds opening back up. So I hid them. I hid him. I hid my baby. I hid Darby. Not from those who were very close. I hid him from the days and nights. I kept his name inside. I didn’t want to become an expert in baby loss. I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me again. This wasn’t about me, but sometimes once a person knows your story they attach a feeling to you. I didn't want to be someone’s sad. I didn’t want Darby to become someone’s sad. Because we are both so much more than that. So I just kept him to myself, deep within.
I shared everything I ever felt about you with the world, Frost. I kept your brother to myself. I was quiet with him. But please, Darby, I need you to know that every word I ever wrote to Frost, the same is engraved on my heart for you. Every cry I ever wailed for Frost, held the tears that would water my love for you Darby. Every song I ever sang to sooth my empty winter, was a comfort hummed when Spring fell too soon. Every dream I ever had of Frost, my ageless boy, was a nighttime wish to cradle you Darby. My love for you is the same Darby, though it has been silent. My love for you is the same Frost, endless and pure.
The woods, I think they had to change after you left, Darby. And the only thing that could match the impact of you on my heart, was a great wind sent by all that is unknown, all that is secret, all that is good, all that is real. In those woods, for me, is a universe, where you and Frost are kings. The trees knew you were coming and they let the wind make way for you. Frost and Darby are together. Brothers among the trees.
As I left the trees today, in their creaking, ancient language, I think I heard a young voice joined by one ten years older. And together, I think I heard them say “Hello Mama, We See You.”
Night, Night Frost Night, Night Darby Mama loves you two
