Eleven and One

 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 

Nine Years Have Been Here

Today is nine years since you were here. And I didn't cry until an hour ago.  And then the tears that came were like dream tears. Like I was watching myself. The dreams that have come lately have been of made up worlds with people who have died visiting. Your great-grandma was in one not to long ago and a woman I used to work with. Grandpa Joe was even in two. I don't cry in my dreams, I just watch and try to remember. Mostly alone, I like that.
I'll soon be feeling little feet again. The movements now are too small for feeling. I haven't told many.  I want to keep it with us for longer. I want to keep it without the judgements to hurt.  Of course I already believe that you know this Frost. You know who is here, who is growing. You are their guardian. Your little brother says that you are coming back. He talks about you so. He tells others your name. He knows you. He brings dream tears. He answers questions for me. He rings your bells and tells me you have your wings.
We sent up a lantern tonight for your birthday. We watched the light flicker and fade and to me it seemed to say "life finds a way".
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Eight Years Old

We watched the earth today, easily and plainly.  The day went by and we went with it. I took your little brother for a walk into your woods.  He played as a five year old boy will.  Being a strong helper, moving sticks and rocks from our path.  Checking the depth of the creek, with a toss of a branch.  Calling out to sleeping coyotes.  He loves to howl at the moon, even on nights when she is new.  He is how I imagine you would be.  He calls you his little brother even though  you are three years older.  We sent up balloons to you again.  Your Daddy's got caught in a tree for a bit before it wiggled free.  Cabbott wanted to keep two of them for himself so we let him.  Later after night came he decided on his own to take them out to you.  I watched with him as they floated up.  We lost site of them quickly and only knew where they were as they floated in front of Orion's belt blocking each star's shine. One. Two. Three.  The last baloon to reach you would have been the orange one.  That's your brother's favorite color you know. 

There was no snow this year on your birthday. I always remember snow ever since you left.  It was a little sad for me not having it.  It was also a little easier without it.  Sometimes I think we need that physical thing to hold on to. To hide in.  The memories I have of the tears and guilt.  They are mine I cherish them because they are the thing I most connect with you.  You are in every drop.  Whether it be frozen or not.  Rains are everything.

I lit candles tonight for you.  Cabbott blew them out for you.  I told him he could make a wish for himself and you.  He wished for you to come visit him in a dream.  Dreams of you soon baby brother.  Dreams are everything.
Happy 8th Birthday Frost, we love you.

Night night Frost
Mama loves you

Seven

I've been watching shadows a lot lately Frost.  Shadows in the snow and shadows in your room.  They seem to tell me things.  They tell me that you are still here, that you speak to your little brother and tell him the secrets of boyhood that he shouldn't know yet on his own.  The snow that came yesterday and stayed for your birthday was full of these shadows.  So many secrets given through them.   You have shown us so much in these seven years.   You have given so many gifts.  At night sometimes you still visit my dreams.  So many different faces, yet I always know when you are there.  Forever you will be my love and nothing can take this away.   No matter the distance, no matter the time.  I can't wrap my head around time sometimes.   I don't feel farther from you even though another year has passed, you will always be here.  I love you my sweet.  Happy birthday for the seventh time.

Night, night Frost
mama loves you

Happy 6th Birthday

A poem, a sky lantern and a bell.  These were your gifts this year.  These are your gifts every year.  But what you give to us every day, that is the true gift.  There is so much of you here with us.  The conversations I have with your brother make me wonder what you and I would have talked about.  Your sister's drawings make me wonder what your imagination would have created.  And then I realize that you are wound up in these parts of them.  I see you in their gifts everyday.  I am a mother of three.  But you are the one who watches over us.  I love you always.  I saw you in the light on the ice crystals this morning and I felt faraway for a moment.  Maybe you brought me to you for that little bit of time.  Happy birthday Frost.  Six years is so long. 
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Five

There is a quiet today.
She is purring next to me with her face held to the sky.  Soft nose tickles to remind and test.
Your brother is sleeping right now.  Light breaths loud enough to tell me he is okay.  Reminding me of past worries.
The dark is setting in and my own breaths slow with the cold.  The blanket keeps him asleep longer than I should let him.  I let it.  I want this time alone to last.  Time to think of you.  With you.  With my five year old boy.  What do you know now?  How fast do you run?  Do you read stories long forgotten here?  I want to talk to you and be marveled at your boyhood wisdoms.  I want you to tell me you're too big to be held.  And here now are the tears I'd been waiting for today.  Part of my memory of your birthday.  I need them, I do.  They give me you in their own little way. 
Your snow came today.  It was the first of the season.  A late snow I think.  It was beautiful to wake up to the soft white outside my window.  Stillness, uninterrupted moments.  Something to keep. 
I set my memory by the snow and rain and wind.  You come with the snow.  Your brother with the wind.  Your sister with the rain.  My children, my reason.  Happy Birthday sweet Frost, I love you.  I will light your candles now.  Wish well.

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Maybe On The Last Full Moon

I drive in the dark of morning.  The tick-tock dark.  When that's all you hear, the automatic noises that fill in the spaces that open up each twilight as the light leaves.  Clocks and crickets.  Crinkling leaves and heavy breaths.  The sounds that enter the sleeping's dreams and transform into up-side-down tap dancers and floating violinists.  Night whispers that become bejeweled sky-divers and naked dragons.  These sounds are what make up my morning trek.  These sounds, coupled with the thick coat of midnight, change me in the mornings.  My mornings become a waking dream, a time when I believe anything could become true.  A time when I ask questions and am given answers in the form of a frozen deer or a rare shooting star.  Symbols I hold on to, but will never fathom.  In the dark, when I am alone, I believe that everything I see is just for me.  The giant shadows of trees, sentries that were planted long before I was born only to shield my path at that moment.  The other cars on the road, phantoms whose headlights are sent to bewilder me.  I wonder at their drivers and if they are in their own dreams or merely a piece of mine.  Perhaps I am in theirs.  The curving road, first gravel, then paved, then highway.  Slow, fast, faster, slow.  My guide in the night.  I follow it unconsciously, I remember the destination, I forget the beginning by the end.  What happened in between?  A song, a face?  Many times tears.  My favorite mornings are those when the moon travels with me.  I watch her, I search for the faces I have thrown up to her.  Those who have left me, I keep with her.   She is like a precious locket to me, and when I am alone I open her up to see the pictures of those I love.  Primarily yours, Frost.  You are always first on those mornings that the moon follows me, leads me, takes me away, took you away. 
During my dark mornings, I wonder at what I will never need to have an answer to.  I spend time on questions that are too late.  I ask out loud to skies that do not speak, hoping to be given a clue to a mystery that was never mine.  I do all of these things because I will always hope that if you were to answer me, it would be then, during the tick-tock dark of morning.

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you