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October 8, 2016


Before Gift was born one of our roommate gave us a little hat.  White, with a smiley face embroidered on it.  I can’t believe I don’t have a picture of at least one of the kids wearing it.  The first four did.  Usually home from the hospital.  I think it got lost at the hospital when Cupcake was born.  I was sad, but it wasn’t like I didn’t have memories of it, and I wasn’t going to have more children.  So, maybe someone else would find it and love it.  Then all their children would wear it and it would be a beautiful story they would share.  About how they found this adorable hat and that all their children wore it.

Then I was so sad when I realized that Cap would never get to wear it.  Wear his big brother’s hat.  I kept that to myself because it was such a silly thing to cry over.  We had very little for ‘the new baby’ so my Love took me out and we bought the outfit he is wearing in the picture above.

That hat.

It has the same shape as the hat.  But the new colour is just so wonderful.  And talk about soft!  I love this hat.

For me there is some kind of link.  An unreasonable connection. I can’t share the other hat and Cap will never know Gift.  But this hat.  This inanimate object made me feel good.  Safe.  In control.  For no reason.  I loved this hat.

But it has been lost.

I tried to not think about it.  It’s just a silly hat.  We have more hats.  Cuter hats.  One that my Love bought specifically for Cap.  But it isn’t the green hat.

But really, it isn’t about the hat.

It is the fear objectified.

The thought process of ‘If I just do…’ or ‘If I just get..’  then things will be better.  That control one tries to gain after the unthinkable happens.

It becomes an obsession.  ‘If I can just control how clean the underwear drawer is then the feelings of loss will be gone’.

No.  No, they won’t.

And when you lose control over that then you have to face the reality that it really was never about the underwear drawer.  But you could label your anxiety, and while you had the underwear drawer under control, your anxiety was the underwear drawer.  But not really.  Your anxiety is still in you.

You are not your anxiety.

My grief and anxiety are linked. I miss Gift.  I can’t bring Gift back.  I can’t share Gift’s hat with Cap.  But I could get Cap a new hat.  It was the best I could do.

Then I lost the hat.

I lost the hat!

It is gone.  It’s a stupid hat!  But losing it makes me feel like if I can’t keep a hat safe, how can I keep Cap safe?  I couldn’t keep Gift safe.

I know they aren’t related.  But there are moments that in my head they are.  And I have to talk myself back from a full blown anxiety attack.  About a hat.

A hat.

Because a hat shows my love. It objectifies my love.

Is love an object?

No.  But sometimes in my head it is.  This hat shows how much I love Cap.  It will show me I can keep him safe.  But not like how I kept Gift safe, because I failed at that.  And I feel terrible because if I can’t keep a offing hat safe how can I keep Cap safe?!

But that isn’t love.  That is fear and anxiety.

We don’t live in fear.

We live in love.

I don’t need that hat to show I want to keep my children safe.  Nor does it show my love.  The fact that I walk around with his vomit on my shirt because I don’t want to put my sleeping baby down shows that I love him  It makes him feel loved and safe. Not a hat.

Not a hat.

Not a hat.




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