3 months ago, I was home with our darling girl. It was her first day home from the hospital. We went to Abbey's dance recital, then home for Abbey's birthday party and sleepover. Yes, we were that nuts. We had 3 little girls sleepover for Abbey's 6th birthday on our first day home from the hospital. We had a blast.
I remembered this early this morning as I lay sobbing on the floor in Izzy's room with the door closed. I completely fell apart about 8am this morning, before I even realized what today was. It reminded me of something I read from a book written by a grieving mother. She said that she'd be going along from day to day, and she'd hold in some of the really intense grief in order to make it through the day, and then out of the blue she'd have a really awful day that felt nearly as painful as the very first day all over again. She said it made her feel like God was a banker. He let her have so many days on loan from the grief, but eventually extracted payment with interest.
I know just what she means. There are days upon days when I can go about my business with the pain just a dull roar in the back of my mind. Then sometimes for no apparent reason it becomes a screaming banshee that will not be silenced, ignored or even managed, and I'm barricaded into Izzy's room blocking the door with my body, sobbing into the carpet, hoping that no one hears me.
Sometimes I feel relieved that the pain is still so debilitating. I find myself wondering if I'm cold because I didn't completely lose my mind. I find myself thinking that I can't have loved her enough, if I can go to work, or have fun at girls night. When I have days like today it's almost like I have passed some test of motherhood.
I wonder some days what this will be like in a year or 2 or 50. When I'm 80 years old will I still find myself unable to breathe at the thought of everything I've missed with her?
I remembered this early this morning as I lay sobbing on the floor in Izzy's room with the door closed. I completely fell apart about 8am this morning, before I even realized what today was. It reminded me of something I read from a book written by a grieving mother. She said that she'd be going along from day to day, and she'd hold in some of the really intense grief in order to make it through the day, and then out of the blue she'd have a really awful day that felt nearly as painful as the very first day all over again. She said it made her feel like God was a banker. He let her have so many days on loan from the grief, but eventually extracted payment with interest.
I know just what she means. There are days upon days when I can go about my business with the pain just a dull roar in the back of my mind. Then sometimes for no apparent reason it becomes a screaming banshee that will not be silenced, ignored or even managed, and I'm barricaded into Izzy's room blocking the door with my body, sobbing into the carpet, hoping that no one hears me.
Sometimes I feel relieved that the pain is still so debilitating. I find myself wondering if I'm cold because I didn't completely lose my mind. I find myself thinking that I can't have loved her enough, if I can go to work, or have fun at girls night. When I have days like today it's almost like I have passed some test of motherhood.
I wonder some days what this will be like in a year or 2 or 50. When I'm 80 years old will I still find myself unable to breathe at the thought of everything I've missed with her?
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