Six Months Later

Writing is certainly a cathartic release, personally, I have kept a journal, and every now and then I'll write here and share my thoughts publicly.  Today marks six months since my wife and I gave birth to our stillborn son. His name is Roman Xavi.  In the days, weeks and months that have come and gone, I have experienced waves of grief.  Joan Didion put it perfectly when she wrote about the sudden loss of her husband: 

 Grief, when it comes, is nothing like we expect it to be. … Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life. Virtually everyone who has ever experienced grief mentions this phenomenon of ‘waves.’

At times, my grief has been debilitating, a sudden thought or action that reminds me of losing Roman can strike at anytime, usually I'm ok, usually I can choke the tears back because it may be an inopportune time to cry, but I've cried an innumerable number of tears for my youngest son.  He will forever be the unknown brother to Aly and Fynn.  I find myself constantly thinking back to that day in the Hospital, the waiting to be called back, to that time when ignorance of his death was bliss,  When that bliss was shattered, obliterated by death.  The pain that death has caused in our family continues even six months later, I see it in my wife, I see it in my daughter, my son, and myself.  While I continue to grieve, and mourn the loss of Roman, I still have the hope and know that I will one day see you again.   

I know that my Savior lives, and at
the end he will stand on this earth.
My flesh may be destroyed, yet from this body
I will see God. Yes, I will see him for myself,
and I long for that moment.
— Job 19:25-27

My Roman, 

You are never far from my thoughts baby boy.  I love you, I miss you, I long to hold you.  

—Papi

Ron ArevaloComment