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- circles
- polka dots
- flowers
- paint
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- Choose a prompt from here that contains either a 3 or a 5 in the number.
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MY JOURNALING (behind the pictures):
October 1969:
As a two year old, my life changed, even though I was unaware of it for a long time.
My parents were expecting a baby, their second child.
It was almost there, my mom was 9 months pregnant.
The nursery was decorated, everything was ready for the baby that was so welcome.
Every morning when I woke up, I first went to the nursery and I looked in the crib.
I was so looking forward to the new baby, a brother or a sister to me.
But on 15 October it all went wrong.
The delivery took off, but my brother was stillborn. The child which was awaited, was dead. My parents were extremely sad.
My brother was placed in his crib in his room, but mom was not allowed to see him. It was better if she did not see him, because that would not be good for her. I doubt that very much....
The rest of the family (mom, grandparents, uncles and aunts) have seen him and say it was the most beautiful baby of us three.
I was brought to the neighbors when labor began. The next morning I didn't went into the nursery as usual, where my brother was still in his crib. I probably felt that I should not do that, even though they had not told me anything.
Dad buried my brother, together with his father, .
From then on my life was different. Of course there was sadness in the house. Sorrow for the child that was not there. Sadness that I tried to compensate. Unconsciously, for the rest of my life .... Until I became aware that I did, many years later, when I was already a grown-up.
My whole life my brother was there, but he never really got his own place in our lives.
Mom and Dad wanted to protect us and therefore had not told us his name.
They did not want us to feel obliged to, when we would have kids of our own, name it after the baby.
So they always talk about 'the boy' and his name was known to no one. On his grave wasn't a stone. Only a number.
And that has made my life difficult. My brother was there, but there seemed to be no place for him. He had no name by which he could be remembered and his grave was no homage.
Fortunately I could talk about that with momwhen I got older. She was also suffering from that.
In 2009 I decided that this had gone on long enough. I wish my brother would get his own place in our lives.
By then I knew that my brother was called Alex and I wanted to make something for his grave.
The conversations with mom made it clear to me that it had to be a dragonfly, because that had an emotional value for her.
I have been working with an artist to make a large dragonfly from stainless steel a whole day long.
That was a healing process. And I was so proud of the result.
Eventually, until October 2012 the dragonfly stood in the garden of mom and dad, in the middle of their pond. My brother had finally come home.
When mom died, so soon after daddy, we decided that Alex was reburied together with them.
The dragonfly is on their graves and has become the monument of their love for each other. Finally joined together in death. And that is comforting.
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