For every one of our babies, I've chosen two songs to sing to them as they fall asleep, songs that are near and dear to my heart. While I love that each of them have had something special just for them, I'm also now left with old favorites that are now inextricably linked with the loss of those babies. I can't hear the songs without the aching, empty-arm heaviness washing over me.
AJ, the one of the four we were most certain would be our child forever, got the two songs I'd saved, hoping to sing them to my child some day. I knew better than to do it, to use my two most favoritest songs; I knew his birthmom still had options. I knew he might not be mine forever.
But she kept saying, for weeks and weeks, months and months, that she was certain of her choice, that she wasn't going to change her mind, all the while continuing to be given baby showers (unbeknownst to us at the time) while we got him through his first cold, clapped when he managed to sit up by himself, received his first smile, laughed with him as waves washed over his little piggies, reveled in that first wonderful time he slept through the night... We became a family as the months passed; I sang him the songs I'd saved since high school for my future babies.
So, AJ got my two most favorites: Over the Rainbow and Wonderful World. Not the traditional versions, but the version by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole with his gentle voice, sweet ukelele, and haunting opening bars.
And now every time Kellogg's hawks their stupid cereal, I have to hear it again. It hits me like a punch in the chest every time. Every damn time.
Listen here (sorry for the inelegant link but I'm not wise to the ways of the internet):
I like it with the Windows Media Player ocean mist visualization; it looks my tears.