Not everything is blog-worthy, right? There are things that are too sad, or too private to put out there for the general public… There are sad thoughts and dark places your mind goes that should probably just be left unspoken, I think…?
I don’t know anymore. I’m not an overly public person who likes to talk about anything and everything going on in my life. Since Alex’s death, it’s like I’m losing my boundaries- or my filter in life. The lines between what I discuss publicly and privately are getting blurred, but it’s not the worst thing in the world.
Exposing my vulnerabilities, sensitivities and insecurities has been liberating in a way that I hadn’t really expected. Not that people always view me as an entirely composed and capable person- that’s just the way I like to view me. Showing the chink in my armor has been okay, so I guess I will keep going.
Today we visit a darker place.
Not every day is a good day. As much as I am buoyed and inspired by the good days, I am scared about how my “progress” will be waylaid by the bad days.
I never get any time alone. I’m either at work or at home and I have plenty of company both places. When I finally get some time to myself, I feel like I can really let down my guard and let whatever emotions are bottled up completely wash over me. Dangerous.
There is still so much sadness inside pouring out of my heart and my body. It’s like that fountain that keeps flowing. With all the tears that have been shed, you would think that we would be getting closer to the end. But the pace of the flow tells me that we’re not even close.
My mind has kept my happy memories of Alex all penned up inside. I remember him intellectually, but don’t really feel what it was like when he was here. There are times when it comes back though. Remembering the soft scent of his hair after a bath, the tight clench of his hand around my finger, the soft rolls around his chubby little legs. Piece by piece, it’s coming back.
It’s not harder for me when these snippets come back, but it’s not any easier either. While it’s reassuring that these happy times and memories aren’t lost forever in the abyss that is my mind, it’s also a reminder of all we have lost.
Alex was a carbon copy of Benjamin. As I see Benjamin jumping and dancing and playing- I realize that I’ll never see Alex in the shadows, imitating his big brother. I’ll never see Benjamin pick his brother up to give him a hug, and I’ll never see Alex tell Benjamin how much he loves his big brother. My two beautiful boys will never again be together on earth. It hurts.
I go about my business and move on with my life. I feel like I’m getting better because I can do all the things I used to do before this happened. Then I realize that the true sign I’m getting better is that my memories of Alex are no longer hermetically sealed in the vault. They’re coming out and I get to process and acknowledge them one by one.
This part is harder though.
None of it is easy, but the “easier” part is when you’re in a fog and not really feeling the pain. Then the fog clears and the pain comes back, piercing and hot. Then things calm down a little and you settle into life. And then you see the pain all over again, working itself into your life, one memory at a time. How many stages are there?!?
There sure as hell aren’t five. Will I still be writing this thirty years from now explaining how stage 764 was a lot better than stage 382, but worse than stage 119?
There are things that move me; expressions grief and comfort. Today is was a lovely little poem shared by a friend:
A thousand words can’t bring you back, I know because I tried.
And neither can a thousand tears, I know because I’ve cried.
In memory of my baby.
There is so much sadness, so many grieving parents- it’s overwhelming.
I’m sure tomorrow will look better. Today is dark.