I got caught
crying bawling at work the other day. I’m really trying not to, or at least I try not to do it in front of others.
I also got told that I look sad.
I just shrugged while thinking, “no freaking kidding.” Of course I look sad. I am sad.
My son is dead. There’s no subtle way to say that. It’s not right. It’s not fair. It’s not at all how it should be. It hurts. Every second of every day – it hurts. So yeah, I look sad, because my eyes are hiding tears.
Every minute of everyday just feels so unfair right now.
I think for the first couple of months everything was kind of numbed. We were in shock. But now. The shock has worn off. The numbness has faded and now it just hurts. Deep in my soul – it hurts.
We tend to avoid our neighbors most of the time. It’s just easier. But tonight, after running errands, I came back and a few of them were outside with their kids. Two little boys came running/toddling over to me. They were followed by their moms who came over and asked how we were doing.
I seriously hate that question. There is no easy answer. Honestly, I’m not good, but everyone really just wants to hear that you’re fine. That you’re okay. Those are the socially acceptable answers.
We made small talk while the two neighbor boys kept climbing up the steps of our front porch to see our dog, Sophie. Soon the littlest boy, probably around a year and half, toddled over to me and grabbed my hand. He began walking across the yard with me. Taking me over to where his dad was working in the yard.
I’ve always loved that kids have always gravitated towards me. Right now, I hate it. I have a hard time around other people’s kids, especially little boys. Family is really the only exception. It’s just hard to see a stranger’s little boy and know that we will never get to watch Josh grow up. He will never come and grab my hand and lead me over to see something he has discovered.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Heaven lately. I keep wondering what it is like. I wonder what Josh is doing. I wonder if he is with our family. I wonder if my Grandma Jones is getting to hold him and rock him to sleep at night. I wonder if babies grow up in Heaven or if they stay little until we get there. I hope he stays little. I want to watch him grow-up. I want to see his first steps and hear his first word. I want to teach him how to play games and how to color in the lines. I want everything that was taken from us. I want those little everyday moments that so many take for granted.
I listen as people complain about losing sleep, because their baby wakes up every two hours. I want to scream at them. I want to shake them. I want to tell them they are lucky. They are blessed. Every second they have their child is a gift that so many others would give anything for. I want to tell them that waking up to change a diaper is so much better than waking up from nightmares and your own tears. I want to tell them, but I know that they won’t hear. If you haven’t walked in these shoes, and I pray that you haven’t and that you never have to, you can’t understand it. I never thought I would. But here I am. A mom – with no baby. A mom – that the rest of the world doesn’t acknowledge. A mom – that’s sad, that hurts, that cries – a lot.