I wrote this one on 9/1/13, two weeks after Aaron would have been six months old. I started sobbing about halfway through and as soon as I finished, I walked away and haven't been back in almost three weeks. Those three weeks haven't gone nearly as well as I had hoped they would, but we're working on it.
Once again, it's been longer than I would've liked since I last sat down to write.
Two weeks ago, Aaron would have been six months old. I had every intention of sitting down that day to write something...I didn't do it. We celebrated his day, of course, but no words came to me when I tried to think about what to write.
On one hand, the pain of not having a six-month old to cuddle and kiss and snuggle was even more present than usual. There were certainly moments that day where all I could think about was how I was supposed to be holding my son. There were other moments where I realized just how much I wanted his sisters to be playing with their baby brother instead of devising new ways to torment one another. Still, there were more moments where I caught myself just staring.
But more than all of that, it was on that day that it finally seemed time to start bringing myself back from wherever I have been in these last six months. I don't mean that I have stopped grieving - that will last a lifetime. I don't mean that I am "moving on" - I have the rest of my life where I will forever remember that there is a piece of me missing. And I don't mean that my pain has somehow magically lifted - there have been moments in the last two weeks where I still have found myself in tears.
What I mean is that I realized I wasn't being fair. I wasn't being fair to myself, my husband, or my son...but most of all, I haven't been fair to my daughters. They lost their little brother six months ago...everyone knows that. What I don't think I realized was that they also lost their mother...she disappeared on the day we received Aaron's diagnosis.
I have always been very honest about the fact that I knew I would walk through this journey and emerge a different person, but I don't know that I've been honest with myself or anyone else about exactly what that looked like.
The woman who has been living my life has not been the woman I ever wanted to be. She has been angry and moody and unpredictable. She has been sulking and exhausted and irritable. She has yelled at a husband who did nothing to provoke and snipped at children who did not deserve it. She has neglected her housework in a way that left only the bare necessities accomplished. She walked through each day and completed the tasks that most needed done but struggled to remember why she did them at all. This woman was a shell; she was simply holding my place while I tried to figure out who the hell I was supposed to be now.
On the day that my son would have been six months old, I woke up with more energy than I'd had in nearly a year. I washed every single dirty dish in my sink all at one time. I sorted the crumpled laundry that was spilling over the side of the hamper. I scrubbed the stove and the toilets and countertops. I gave the dog a bath and I planned activities for the girls. That week, we finally went to story time again. I planned menus and shopping lists for the month. We all spent time in the kitchen baking surprises for Daddy to come home to. We started focusing on preschool practice. We started living again.
I still miss Aaron just as much as always - I don't think that will ever change. But I did realize just how much I've been missing myself too.
