Alternate reality or what could have been (Archives)

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Alternate reality or what could have been

20 March 2021 – The Absence of Memory

My daughter crawled into my lap the other day, grabbed my hand and wrapped it around her. And I realize in the years since the death of my son, what I miss most is this; this thing that hadn’t happened yet. This scent of life and normality. He deserved this too.

Miranda and Adrian's Elephant on the California coast (Synch Media)

1 June 2020

June is an intense month for me, because each June, I remember what it’s like to go in for a routine examination and be told my child has no heartbeat. My greatest wish for the world today is to understand the power of GENUINELY informed consent.

Adrian's Elephant and his photo at St Katharines's Parmoor, Buckinghamshire, England (Miranda Hernandez)

126 – Fri, Mar 29, 2019, 9:39 AM

And for the longest time, I couldn’t cry. And for the longest time I couldn’t cry about you. And then today, and it feels almost out of nowhere. Like it’s a full body memory, and I realized I still miss you. I’ve never stopped missing you.

Draft email (Miranda Hernandez)

Two Birthdays

Almost three years ago, we both were pregnant. I didn’t realize at the time how closely we aligned. I think I thought about saying something then, but I didn’t. No excuses this time. And then your son was born, and my son died. 

Dandelions over Te Ti Bay, Waitanga, New Zealand (Miranda Hernandez)

121 – Mon, Jul 23, 2018, 9:04 PM

I haven’t written, lately, because words have felt hard. I haven’t written, lately, because my attention hasn’t been focused on you. And I want to apologize, because I remember those early days when I thought I would never stop thinking about you.

California coast in Big Sur, California (Miranda Hernandez)

110 – Sun, Jun 3, 2018, 9:11 AM

The first night I left the house after Alexis* left, I was in a daze. I had walked these streets playing Pokemon Go not even that long ago. It felt like another lifetime.

Garden art in San Juan Capistrano, California (Miranda Hernandez)

109 – Sun, May 27, 2018, 8:35 PM

I got called a mom today. I was with someone else’s kids, and the waiter asked me if the youngest could have another soda. “Is it okay with mom?” Pieces of normality…

Keālia Beach, Kaua’i, Hawai’i (Miranda Hernandez)

106 – Fri, May 18, 2018, 6:18 PM

I finally looked up the plot line of “It’s a Wonderful Life”. Ironic that the story seems applicable to me. Ironic that I judged something that now feels maybe powerful.

Miranda and Adrian's Elephant at Northstar California Resort

089 – Sat, Feb 17, 2018, 3:55 PM

Without you, I live in a world of unwanted freedom. I live in a world where I can pack up and head to Tahoe on a random weekend, but none of this is enough. So much of this feels empty.

California coast (Miranda Hernandez)

082 – Wed, Jan 24, 2018, 3:46 PM

I think about “moving forward”. I think about “trying again”. These words are hurtful. These words feel like I’m trying to replace you. It isn’t possible to replace you.

Miranda and Adrian's Elephant (Miranda Hernandez)

077 – Fri, Jan 12, 2018, 2:38 PM

I’ve told people that I feel more awake now, more present. I think I’m only now beginning to understand what this fork in our road means.

Miranda and Adrian's Elephant on the California coast (photo used with permission)

075 – Tue, Jan 9, 2018, 10:04 PM

When I think of thankfulness, all I can think of is the time I had with you. The whispered conversations. The whoosh of your first movements. The tactile knowledge of your hands, and your face, and your very active feet.

Adrian's Elephant

072 – Sat, Dec 30, 2017, 10:51 AM

You made me a mother, and my arms ache without you. So I carry your elephant, and I wish you were here, and I think about the crazy duality of this year.

020 – Tue, Jul 18, 2017 at 2:29 PM

I had a fantasy of how it would go. I would wake up early in the morning, and it would start. I would walk to Alexis’s room and tell her, calmly, that it was time.

Miranda and Adrian's Elephant on the California coast (Synch Media)

Second Eulogy

My son, Adrian James Hernandez, was stillborn exactly one year ago today. And his loss was the first time in my life where there was nothing I could fight and nothing I could do or say. These are my reflections on the past year since his death.

Adrian's Elephant on Keālia Beach in Kaua'i, Hawai'i (Miranda Hernandez)

18 June 2018, 8:47 pm; Living in the Calendar after Loss

I don’t think too much about actual dates, and so I missed the anniversary of my 39th week. And this is important to me, because it’s the date my providers had pushed for induction. And I wonder — if I had chosen differently, would I have a living child?

Keālia Beach 2 - Feature

20 Feb 2018 – Unspoken

I know what you want to talk about. I know how it pains you when others try to chase your words away. It isn’t a question of guilt. It’s fact — if you had chosen to listen, I would be alive.

Incline Village, North Lake Tahoe - Feature

20 Feb 2018 – Time

I feel unusual in the way that I’ve been counting. I’ve never kept elaborate timelines. My cousin’s wife reminded me when 30 days had passed. I was visiting, and her words took the breath out of me. It always feels like yesterday.

Explore more of Adrian's Elephant

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