Things have been a delightful whirlwind for me lately, with life tossing me excitement and disappointment, new friends and new hurts, and as always both pain and joy. Grief always sneaks up on me when I am my busiest. That makes it kind of a slap in the face. I feel like I am trucking along the freeway at 90 miles an hour and then a tire blows out.
It starts with my stomach dropping and initial panic as I figure out whats going on. My grief starts with fear. I feel like my world comes to an almost complete stop, but only in my head
Then there is the recognition. Yes, it is happening. I am about to hurt.
Then there is acceptance. I have to deal with this, I can't avoid it. I have to figure out what the best way to deal with it is in that moment. Am I in a public place? Is there someone I know near me?
Then the pain...
Then I deal with it. I just do. There are no other options.
But why does it hurt like this? Why is the pain still so poignant? Its been nearly 3 years, and I don't feel the hurt every moment of the day. I don't feel like a pariah of pain and parenthood all the time. When the pain strikes, though, it hurts bad. I still cry; it's less often, less tears, less sobs, but I still cry.
Tomorrow will be Rhys's third birthday. If he were here we would be having a birthday party this weekend. He would be running around, probably climbing on everything, chatting up a storm, and growing every minute. He would run behind big brother and big sister, and fawn over little baby brother. There would be cake and ice cream, and maybe we'd get him a bike or a DS so he could be like the big kids.
It's so hard to not have that today.
My son Rhys,
I think about you every single day. A little piece of my heart is missing with you not here. I pour all the love I have for you into the family that is here and missing you. You are with me in every way.
I love you.