There are times in my life when I just want to curl up in a ball in my bed and sob loudly. I want to scream. I want to hit something. Tonight is one of those nights. It’s a painful cry. It’s chest-clenching, holding your breath and sometimes, hyperventilating type of cry. It’s one of those times when you wish all the people that said they would be there was actually beating down your door just to give you a hug. It’s the angry part of grieving. It’s ugly. I want my son back so bad that I can think of nothing else. I want him here with me, beside us, laughing at us, getting into things, crying at us because he doesn’t always get his way. I want to change his diaper, feed him, cuddle him and watch him annoy the heck out of Elijah. It’s a cold and lonely feeling. You’re almost certain that you are losing your sanity no matter how hard you are trying to hold on. It’s not losing touch with reality. I don’t think you can ever lose touch with this type of reality. The burying-your-child part of reality. It’s always there. I feel like poo tonight. My eyes are red and swollen and I’m pretty certain that I’m emotionally unstable at this exact moment.
But you know what happens in this moment: I pray. My eyes dry up. My face resumes it’s normal color. The anger leaves. Elijah gives me a warm hug and a pat on the back. He kisses me, tells me I’m beautiful and apologizes for my heartache.
Last week, he came home with a book that he wrote to Jonah. It was so sweet and cute and it made Jason and I both cry like babies when we read it. It was only two pages, simple and full of errors. I’ll copy it word for word here:
First page:
“Dear Jonha,
I hop you are happy. Are you having fun. Have you made iny frins?”
Second page:
“Is your Crismis tree perity? Are you happy?”
:) i don't have words for this one. continue to write, continue to heal. :)
ReplyDelete