Okay, not every day has been sad. But at least once a day every day Nick has been in my thoughts. Then again, all of my kids are in my thoughts every day. The only difference is, Nick will never be here physically for me to hold and talk to ever again, and that totally sucks!
This weekend has been filled with moments of breath stifling grief. It's like an elephant sits on my chest. Each breath is hard to take. It's literally a labor of love to take my next breath.
When Nick was killed, we began to take life one breath at a time. Then it changed to one minute at a time, then one hour, then one day until finally here we are knocking on the door of one whole year without this brilliant, silly, talented soul in our lives.
We knew this time was coming. Friends told me this day was coming (like I would be able to forget). They told me not to let November 10th blind side me. They told me to have a plan. Great. Plan is in place. But what I wasn't ready for were these last couple of days leading up to November 10th.
There are times when I feel like it isn't real. There have been times in the last couple of days like I could deny this ever happened. There have been days when I felt like I could make a bargain with whatever force it out there in order to bring him back. I would totally sell my soul to the devil if I believed in such a thing. There have been moments when I might have even forgot about this whole thing and laughed and had a good time. But in the very next moment I felt like someone stabbed me in the heart.
I am angry. I am sad. I am in denial. It is all very real. It is too real. I am worried. I feel like I am shattering into a million pieces. I feel like I have been glue back together again in some cruel joke cause we all know I am just going to shatter again. Resistance is futile! I will be assimilated into this secret society of grieving parents.
This weekend, I have watched a light leave my daughter's eyes. It is a mixture of broken heart from a break up from a boyfriend and a mixture of grief over her brother. How do I dissect the two? I can't. All I can do is hold her. But I can't even promise her that all will be okay. I know we will get through this, but I can not tell her that she will get over this. We will only get through this (never over it). I know that we will find joy again. I know that we will be happy again. But right now, the emotional weather looks like "Sadness with a 100% chance of teary precipitation". Actually, it looks more like "The eye of Hurricane Grief will be passing over our home in the next 24 hours, but the outer rings have already begun to hit and our hurricane shutters are barely holding up."
Tonight, I went to a burlesque show. I had front row center stage seats, my favorite place. I love my Glitter Family! They played with me while they performed. I helped them up the stage, I had dirty little nothings whispered in my ears. I got to squirt mustard on the backside of one of my sisters. I got to help skin a deer. And I even got brought on stage and proposed to by the handsome Chaz! I laughed and I hollered. I had a great time visiting with non performing friends. It was a great night. But as soon as it was over, I was overwhelmingly sad. My sister and mentor came to hug me after the show. She gives the best hugs. (Have I mentioned I love my Glitter Family?.. .and they love me back.) Tonight, I drove home, willing the tears to fall. If the dam of my grief would just break, I would feel so much better, right? But no. All I can feel is the pressure building. I know it's going to burst open, and when it does I am not sure how I will ever be able to collect the pieces and rebuild again.
But rebuild we must.
I guess every year will be like this. I have talked to enough Angel Mommas to know that every year, it will hurt. But those who have been through years and even decades of this promise me, that each year the dam pieces get fewer and fewer. There is hope. But for the time being, please read all of the caution signs carefully. Batten own the hatches, and be prepared, a hurricane is coming.
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