The past couple of days, I have not wanted to get out of bed in the morning. I didn't really have a conscious thought as to why... I just didn't want to get up. Didn't want to face the day. Didn't want to have to answer the phone. Didn't want to talk. Didn't want to pretend that I am OK.
When I am sleeping, I can see her. Feel her. Hear her laugh. Wipe her tears. Kiss her boo boos. Hug her. Tuck her in. Teach her. Sing to her.
That is all lost when I wake up.
Perhaps getting out of bed is abandoning her. If I stay in bed, stay asleep, keep dreaming... then she will always be here.
Don't get me wrong.. I am thankful to God that I have Blake. And now.... now that I have this "new normal", I worry constantly that something is going to happen to him. My days are filled with what ifs. It is especially difficult when I am not with him... even when he is in a place that is supposed to be safe. When he is at school, I worry. When he is with Mike, I worry. When he is playing in his room, I worry.
It is not rational... I know this... but it is part of me now. Part of who I am. A part of me that will never, ever change.
Over the past couple of weeks I have been given a link to this blog. It's not so strange that I was given a link to a blog. Happens all the time. The strange and amazing thing is that I was given this link by two completely different people. One of them is one of my best cyber friends. She and I share the connection of having lost a child. The other is a counselor from years past, who I don't get to see anymore (we moved) but who I still feel so connected to. She understands. She gets it.
I am so grateful to have these two friends in my life.
This morning I forced myself out of bed because there are some things that simply must be taken care of today. I ignored the phone. Turned the sound off on the computer. And sat here listening to the rain. Mother Earth is being cleansed. The dirt and grit of everyday life is being washed off the surface, but not completely washed away. That is my grief... even though it has been washed off the surface... it is still there. It hasn't been completely washed away. It cannot be. It never will be.
What follows the rain is the sweet smell of life. The beauty of life. The sounds of life. Birds singing the songs of life. But in order for these things to be, there has to be rain.
None of us knows how long the rain will last. But we do know, that at some point the rain will stop and the sun will shine...it may be cloudy... it may be cool...and it will, without a doubt, rain again. Someday.
Grief is astonishingly like rain. You can see it, hear it, feel it... for a period of time and then it seems to go away. But it is always there. Hiding within the chamber of our hearts. And it will resurface. We don't know when. We don't know for how long. We don't know how severe it will be. One thing is certain... the grief will show itself again.
And then, life will take over once again.
It's a vicious cycle.
That cannot be stopped or altered.
That I never imagined I would be riding.
That I never realized how many other people are riding with me.
That I cannot imagine my life without.