I don’t even know where “here” is, but I have to say it’s a long way from where I started out.
I started out mostly lost, definitely confused and just plain sad. Like the kind of sad that makes your soul ache. The kind of sad that empties your tear ducts and your face hurts from all the crying.
But I’m here.
In such a different place.
A place of being a stay-at-home/ work-at-home mom. Surrounded by diapers, and messy floors and interrupted phone calls.
A place where I have the privilege to kiss my babies goodnight and hug them so many times in a day because I just can’t get enough of their littleness. Joseph is getting to the age where he doesn’t snuggle a whole lot, unless he is just plain wore out or wants a book to be read to him. So I get in the snuggles while I can, when I can.
This place is also swarming with land mines.
A step in the wrong direction can land you in a pint of ice cream, bawling your eyes out. Because sometimes the sadness – it never really leaves. You just learn to control it better over time.
But somehow you figure out a way to keep breathing under the incredible load of grief over your chest.
You don’t feel strong. You feel old, ancient actually. You feel worn. Tired.
This place also makes me smile at the thought of death. Not in a suicidal way, but in a way that I am looking forward to what comes next.
Being with her again.
Don’t misinterpret that. I’m not seeking out death, but I’m not as scared of it as I might have been before. I have something precious waiting for me on the other side.
I just don’t know sometimes. She is the turning point for me. There is a “before” Jenna, and “after” Jenna. For basically everything in my life.
Today Joseph was talking about Jenna. He told me she has blue eyes and that she’s a “big girl”, not a baby. He was so sure of himself. I smile at the possibility that I am getting glimpses of her through his eyes.
It feels good to say her name without tears. But I find that harder and harder. I’m not sure why either.
Sometimes I get carried away with life I think I forget how much I really miss her. I wonder if when the kids are older will the grief hit me at full force again? They serve as such wonderful distractions from such tremendous pain.
I don’t know. But I do wonder sometimes.