Tears for Heaven

I miss my baby. I want to hold him again. It's been 3 weeks today. And 20 minutes as I type this right now. I've seen patients for 2 days this week, but decided I needed a day to breathe. And Thursdays I really have a hard time. And I wonder when I won't anymore. When I won't count them. Or stare at the clock at 9:54.

I'm not sad all the time. I have laughed and played with our boys. I have laughed with family. I am looking forward to joining a gym and losing the half of cocunut cake I ate. I enjoyed the distraction of work. I like being a chiropractor with counselor's heart. I like my new shoes and am looking forward to the first run. I'll be out to Goodwill to get some clothes today. I'm excited to see Yaya in a few weeks. Looking forward to a quiet lunch with Gigi tomorrow. To take the boys to the farm. To take Aiden on a weekly Mommy-Son date. (Kipton and I spend a LOT of time together). I LOVE playing with those precious boys. I'm excited about starting a small group with our new found church friends. I still have many many things that bring me joy.

But I woke up in a full on panic the day we brought Everett's ashes home. We have 2 urns-- a teddy bear and a picture box. His ashes are in both. They spread them into the two holders in an office at the funeral home. And in the middle of the night, in my half-sleep state, I panicked. Terrified. Petrified. That part of him fell on the floor. Or on the desk. And it was swept up and thrown away. I *KNOW* it essentially doesn't mean anything. They're just ashes. But I was in an absoulte, sweat drenched, heart pounding, barely breathing panic. That Everett was thrown away.

There has been so much to do, so many boxes to check. Other events that have required attention. Family gatherings. That three weeks later, there is just now time to breathe. Time to realize. Time to... hurt. But not really. Because I don't have a job. I have a business. I don't have leave. I have rent, utiities, and payments to make. (This is a not poor, pitiful me statement). So I've already been to work like 5 or 6 days, most of which is just administrative work. And there's a retreat factor to being there. A forget factor that enables me to pretend like my life doesn't include a dead baby. So work keeps me busy, even if it is a little stressful.

But normal is not normal.

I don't *usually* cry Keith to sleep. Then go cry in the shower. Then cry myself to sleep.

I don't *usually* wear a necklace that has the ONE day my son was alive imprinted on it.

I don't *usually* ache from the inside out.

I don't *usually* wonder if people can see the sadness in my eyes.

I don't *usually* wonder if I'm doing a good job of pretending my heart isn't in pieces.

Normal is something we will all learn. Normal always changes. That is what is NORMAL about normal. Change. And I know time will dim the vividness of the emptiness. Time will quiet the screams of longing. Time will dull the sharp pain of loss. Normal will always include these things. Just not this clearly.

I will always want my baby.

To hold him again.

To hold him longer.

To love him in my arms.

To watch him grow.

But now normal will include tears for heaven. Because I long for my little one. And I miss him terribly. I feel like part of me is missing. Just... gone. And I hug my Everett bear. And I cry. Becuase my baby is gone. And I'm selling a crib that should be holding him as he naps. And we've given away his clothes to a family who lost their home to a fire. And I'll take the newborn diapers I kept, just in case, to the pregnancy crisis center. There's 30 lbs to lose that remind me constantly that my baby is dead.

Normal.

Will never be normal again.