Today at 1:08pm (AZ time) it will have been 100 weeks. 100 Mondays since I held you. It also happens to be 23 months today, just one more month on the secular calendar until another February 3, but I will save that for another post.
100 weeks. I wonder what that sounds like to others? Is the number considered big or small in the land of grief? Will people stop saying to me, "oh that wasn't so long ago"? Will people tell me, "oh it's been a while"? I am still afraid of what people might end up telling me. As it is when people make the gasping sound after hearing of your loss I haven't quite mastered being comfortable, I just nod my head and keep talking while they go on to say how hard it is, or how they couldn't imagine. (PS: They all can, that's why they all say they can't. They can imagine it, it's just too painful so they don't want to). I get it, it is horribly painful. I didn't want to imagine it either when you were alive, despite knowing that one day I wouldn't have to imagine it, I would have to live it. What I want to tell everyone who says that is, oh don't worry, it is far worse than you could imagine if you allowed yourself to attempt to imagine it.
100 weeks without you. The continuous proof that life goes on and a mother's heart can still beat after her child's stops.
This last week real construction started at the new house. Did I tell you one of the guys working also buried a child, his son. Lately, I find it fascinating (for a lack of a better word) just how many grieving parents are walking around without anyone knowing. I think the most comforting part is watching all these parents be normal, the same way I pretend to be, but then when we start to talk about our deceased children we immediately allow our tears to flow and we reach out for a hug because we get it all. We understand the fakeness of our lives, the walls we put up just to make it through the day, and we understand the need to be real for a moment in the company of others who require zero explanation.
This last week winter break came to an end and we closed out an entire year. I spent the majority of the weekend and the few days before it trying to pump myself up to return to work. I am unsure if it is just the typical challenge of having to pump oneself up to return to work after a break, or if it is my brain knowing the likely struggle with the dates that lay ahead and its lack of desire to deal with anything? Maybe it is a combination of both?
Yesterday Auntie A took pictures of Laeya for her Bat-Mitzvah. I cannot believe she will be turning 12 and we will be celebrating that milestone (mixed in between all of your important dates). I hope you can come and visit, I know she misses you a lot and she would love for you to come.
Anyway baby girl. I love you and miss you! Happy 100 weeks of running, dancing, talking, singing, yelling, cheering, swimming, skipping, jumping, and whatever else you have learned you loved to do freely!
Until next time.