80 weeks...and one day, my eyes squint as I wonder how; my heart hurts as I dare to wonder why. These last 6 days have felt like they have been an eternity themselves, sometimes I wonder what role if any you are having in all of it, I struggle to figure out if and what you are trying to communicate, much like during your life. Last Thursday night Meena, Laeya, and I returned to our grief groups. I really missed mine. I am one of the furthest along in terms of physical distance from the death date, but in terms of the journey, at this point, I feel like I won't ever be graduating. According to all of the books I have read there will be a day that I will look back and tell the 'me of now' that one day I will learn how to continue to move forward. I will keep waiting for that day.
We were supposed to go to Bear Pines last weekend, but when Friday rolled around my energy levels and ability to cope with grief and life were impossible. We did a quick family vote and 4:2 meant we stayed in Phoenix. Ema has flown off her rocker completely and Meena and Noam now have their own baby kitties, Bella Nicki and Bailey Nina. They were temporarily being housed in your room while everyone adjusted, so I cleaned up your room by putting away all of the clothing for your potential clothing quilts and moving your car and stroller out of your room. We woke up Shabbas morning to the entire house being flooded. Aba and I are more annoyed at the inconvenience because after burying you, very little can actually be worse. My tears were of the thought of what will happen to your room when they do the official moisture checks. What about your bed? What else of you are we going to lose? Luckily all of your important items were away. Aba found a handprint father's day gift from you in a bag, but thankfully your handprints are still intact and just the year and one word were blurred. The cabinet was soaked so your blankets on the bottom shelf were wet, but they were cleaned and dried by Saturday night. The hardest loss currently is your hospital bag that I have never unpacked from the last time you were in-patient. I started to unpack it when I realized aba hung it up on my closet door not wanting to tell me, but knowing I would realize on my own when I saw it. I saw my hospital socks, a pair of leggings, and a shirt before I completely lost it and decided I can't unpack it, not yet. I won't ever repack it again so I can't unpack it. For now, it remains on the hook until I don't know when?
Aba initially said this flood is an omen and it is time for us to move. I told him I can't and won't leave you so we aren't going anywhere. I am left wondering if this was a message from you telling us that we need to "start over", and that we need to move forward? I know you would totally be on my side for renovating the house, but honestly, my energy level and ability to take on this type of project right now is similar to your bone density level...in the negative range. Maybe that is why it is happening though? Maybe it's to keep me busy so I keep pushing on? Just another thing to do to keep my mind busy and not fall deeper into this grief pit? Not sure it is really going to be helpful? I am torn on if this means we should repurpose your room, nothing feels right, I am so utterly confused.
How have you been doing? I haven't asked how you are doing or what you are up to. Do you have nice friends? Do you get to see saba? What do you do every day? Is someone taking care of you? Are you scared? Do you feel safe? If you can somehow answer anything, just let me know if you are truly doing ok.
Anyway my love.
Be safe. Know how much you are loved and missed!
Until next time.