I noticed my journal that has been sitting on my bedside table while I was getting up this morning. I have a few journals and this particular one is what I wrote on when I was pregnant with my baby Marcus. On top of the journal was a list of 'to do's' I jotted down about two months back... prepping for Marcus' arrival. I was curious about what I wrote and thought to take a short glimpse. Repainting, shelving for Marcus, cabinetry, bathroom baby proofing, ... I ended up opening the journal and began reading my journey with my baby boy.
January 2010 I started writing in the journal. Not realizing it will all end too soon, I should have started earlier. Though in a way I am relieved I still have these memories written down. I will always have with me a very important remembrance of Marcus. It contains my purest and most intense feelings of affection for my son, while he was growing inside me. I spoke of his very active movements, how he loved kicking and exercising. I spoke about my fears - how I did not want him harmed in any way, my worries about my high glucose levels. I noted down every plan I had wanted for him - from his baby things, his room, his future. I wanted the best for him. I was going to spoil him rotten.
Most especially, I wrote down how he had changed my life. Before he came, I was living quite a selfish life. I was preoccupied with 'me.' But when my miracle came along I started to live a purposeful life. He made me a better person, he made my life worthy. I never realized a tiny person could open my eyes to a whole new beautiful world. I started to live a selfless life, I lived a life for Marcus, I lived a life of a mother. It was exhilarating.
My journal has many unused pages. Suddenly left blank, supposedly meant for future memories with our little one. When you look at my journal, it holds a deep representation of my life. How once I was a mother, full of hope and dreams for our son. As you turn the pages expecting to read more, you unexpectedly see blank, white unused leaves. A promise of a future drew to a halt.
I have a few journals. Looking back, it seems to represent different chapters in my life. Why? All of them having a common denominator -- all left with unused pages. Though my journal for and with Marcus, is 90% blank.
A few weeks ago I bought a new journal. I didn't realize that it meant another chapter in my life. A new chapter about living, but living a life without my son.
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