It started off okay. Even was good. My mom and sister Abbie and brother Jared came to visit for awhile and brought lunch, stayed for dinner - you know the typical day. And truthfully it was great. But the noise and hustle&bustle that occompanied them combined with the loud excitement from Ivy the entire time they were here sent me into overwhelm.
I tried to self regulate after they left. Even told Ivy I had put myself in timeout. And it did work for a bit. But when it came to bath and bedtime the arguing over every tiny detail to get her into bed, and the crying over nothing.... I snapped, and then I spiraled.
Jeff ended up putting her to bed because I simply couldn't. I found myself sitting in Elliott's room crying and staring at the ceiling fan. The ceiling fan that was off. It felt so final. We keep our ceiling fans on year round. Helps circulate the air on our second floor and keeps the bedrooms temperate. But his was off- because he wasn't sleeping in there tonight.
Que more tears.
So many thoughts flooded my head and my heart. Some horrible like "at least the families in Israel are all dying together". (Yea I know) Some as simple as wishing I could potty train him. We never got the chance. Truthfully I was worried about it- it seemed daunting to potty train a boy.
I've been trying to stay busy. To focus on things like eating better and projects around the house to stay distracted on some level always. Tonight, there weren't any distractions left. The raw pain of missing him was at the surface and there was no putting it aside.
I don't really feel angry. And lots of people say- well it might come- but sitting around and waiting for anger feels like waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don't want that. All of this is hard enough without having that nagging feeling following you around.
Jeff said in the first week something about how were different people now. In an instant we became different people. There's no going back theres just trying to figure out how to live this new and different life.
But you know what. It doesn't feel fair. It doesn't feel fair that our 4 bedroom home was only fully filled with tiny humans for one year. It doesn't feel fair that I only had one year of filling 3 stockings at Christmas. It's not fair that there are parents who are actual terrible humans who get to keep their babies. It's not fair that my 4 year old already knows loss and grief in a way that most adults struggle with. It's not fair that our family only felt complete for a year. It wasn't long enough.
Believe it or not, even in the "it's not fair" I don't feel angry. If you aren't christian that's okay. I'm not going to try to add a bunch of Bible verses to every post. But one that keeps sprouting in the back of my head is the verse talking about Mary the mother of Jesus. It's in Luke 2 - the story of the Birth of Christ - and how miraculous and strange it was. It speaks of how everyone else was talking about the strange events the shepherds had seen and heard, but then it pauses ... "But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart."
So many moments in the last weeks have felt sacred, special. I have tried to voice some of them, and some of them I don't know that I'll ever be able to. Jeff and I are "doers" we always have been and in this we've still done a lot, but we're also in many ways being forced to be passive and soak it in and sit still in it.
The morning after Elliott died we were at the campground mostly standing around dazed. Trying to pack up some necessities so we could leave. And an elderly man rode up on his bicycle. He must've seen my face and asked if I "knew the little boy who had passed away." And I had to respond- "I'm his mother." The man was broken. He and his family have camped there every summer for 30+ years and this has never happened he tells me, he's so sorry, it's unimaginable. Somehow the words out of my mouth were "Imagine already being perfect at 2 years old, and being called home."
What's really not fair is that it's going to take me a long time to be perfect too.
♥️
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