The broken heart still beats.
One year. 365 days. Without Sylvie. No fights about wearing costumes to bed. Or to preschool. No homemade ice pops in Hello Kitty molds. No princesses, My Little Pony or Barbie. No Laurie Berkner, Dan Zanes, Suzi Shelton, “I Love a Rainy Night” or Max and Ruby episodes on Michael’s iPhone. No birthday candles. No Chanukah candles. In July. No Sylvie kisses or embraces. No falling asleep with Sylvie literally clinging to our faces.
The past year has been surreal. Unreal. But real. There are many tragedies that can happen to you which you can undo, grow up or out of or just plain fix. Unfortunatley, losing your child is not one of them.
Hundreds of well-meaning strangers asking us the inevitable, “Do you have kids” or others ignoring us at parties thinking we can’t contribute to conversations pertaining to parenting. Unavoidable. Well, easily avoidable—sometimes we just cancel our plans and stay home! When Michael and I are together and “the question” is not far off, I usually step forward and jump to with a, “Our daughter passed away, she would have been four” just so that Michael doesn’t have to do it. When I became pregnant, ten times more people asked. Some even acted offended, like I ruined their day when they innocently asked me if we had other kids.
Sylvie’s not here in person and it’s just not right, not fair to her or us or you. We feel her presence often sometimes masked in bizarre coincidences and other things which we keep private because it is just that—private-- or you’d think we’re just plain crazy.
Our family and friends continue to be incredibly supportive. Like when we ask them who exactly is going to be at a potluck dinner because there are a few people who make us incredibly uncomfortable or perhaps we just don’t feel like being around more than eight, ten or fifteen people that night. And I’m sure sometimes our eyes glaze over when we see their kids. Maybe we even roll our eyes unknowingly when they complain about their kids or make bullshit excuses to avoid spending time with their children.
Michael and I go to the cemetery often. We were there yesterday together, usually we go separately. I’ve talked to Sylvie about how much I love her (more than I have ever or will ever love anything in the world is how I usually put it) and then about her baby brothers. They don’t really look like one another yet they each resemble her in remarkable ways. I think Sylvie might actually have liked them, contrary to what I initially believed. Michael planted a princess holly bush and a teeny tree yesterday and I brought a cloisonné Nutcracker ballerina ornament. Hopefully the Jewish cemetery police will not discover it.
Today is Michael’s birthday. Our weekend and our morning has been filled with mixed greetings. I’m glad our friends and family are acknowledging the day. I really liked that our friend Rohit referred to Sylvie as “our princess,” because she was so special to so many of us. It’s also important to me for Michael to have some semblance of a birthday. Especially since we are going to revisit this annually.
I went to sleep last night with a very heavy heart. I have been so extremely tired that I look forward for my head to hit the pillow when I can say my nightly prayers and conversation to Sylvie shortly before falling into the deepest sleep imaginable. So deep the baby nurse and Michael often can’t wake me up!
Today was also filled with a trip to the surgeon for me. One day when the twins are old enough to understand, like when they are twenty, I’ll explain to them just how difficult it was for us to make them. Then finally I might not be horrified by photographs of my huge pregnant twin belly in which I can point out the hernia that I endured for the sake of procreation! Then I’ll tell them that I was terrified the doctor might tell me that, in order to appease my vanity and fix the hernia, I couldn’t have more children which would just break my heart because in as much as I know I cannot recreate Sylvie, the notion of trying to create another little girl in her image is something I truly must do in order to go on. Not the case, the doctor explained to me the process to fix it now and also should I have another baby. I used to be scared of all things related to anesthesia but after the past twenty four months, I say bring it on. Bring on the IVs, operating rooms, monitors. Michael on the other hand, breaks out in a nervous sweat whenever he sees medical apparatus. Sylvie still braved far worse than any of us should ever have to go through and it never slips my mind.
Just like I made for Samantha, Sylvie’s best friend forever, I am making a photo album for my niece with all the great photographs of her and Sylvie. In some, they look like old friends sharing a private moment whether they were complimenting each other on their Snow White and Dorothy costumes, fighting over marbles, sharing pumpkins, getting naked in the kiddie pool despite our protests or maybe just sharing a secret.
I am going to go back to the cemetery today although I feel connected to Sylvie more at home than there. There I will think about finality. I will think about what a cruel fucking world this is. I’ll question how one year ago Sylvie opened her eyes to look at Michael one last time and nodded at him as if she understood or had a conscious choice in the matter. I’ll think about all the doctors & nurses who knew Sylvie who stood there crying, too. Our friends and parents nearby. Her pink princess dress with matching panties—a birthday gift from Jette—and rainbow blanket we brought from home to the ER that day. Then I’ll think about the pink plaid taffeta dress from Hanna Andersson I was saving for Passover & Easter with Sylvie’s favorite pink cardigan and black “Chanel” party shoes that she’s wearing now.
And tonight, if Spencer & Ryan actually cooperate, perhaps we will try to go out and celebrate Michael’s birthday. I know that before he can even make a birthday wish, Sylvie will already have blown the candle out.
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