Time and Grief and Love

To miss what once was while you are not able to be in the moment of what is is a horrible kind of self torture and pain particular to only humans. 

I worked out, and I did yoga. I told you I would, and I did. I spent the evening alone with Ever, Mr. Curry took Lola to a baseball game, and at first, it was scary. As soon as they left, I burst into tears, and although I told Ever ' It's OK sweetie. Mommy's a little sad. Mommy's crying. That's OK, everyone cries ' still, no child likes to see their parent cry, and Ever held me for a minute and kissed my face before playing toys in the next room. I let myself cry for a  minute, because I knew if I didn't, I'd be irritable and cranky all evening. Then I wiped my face and Ever and I left the house and bought cheap takeout, and walked around, came home and played ball outside, washed the dogs and played in the hose, I worked out and did yoga and she watched Mickey Mouse, we showered, we snuggled, we nursed, she fell asleep. It was beautiful. I read Pema Chodron and accepted the pain that I was in and I felt comforted by her. 

In the background of all of this, there is the quiet and constant aching of missing Dakota. Sometimes I have moments where I curl my hand to my gut and press hard, clench my jaw, because the tremendous change of my oldest child being out in the world is so monumental I can only seem to process it in these leaps and bounds. For years and years, he was mine, and I his, and we alone for each other, although there were so many friends and family, it was mostly he and I together, and the amount of time I spent with him bonded us as deeply as possible. Until he was six, he was with me almost all the time. I worked as a nanny so I could bring him with me, and then at a drop in preschool where he came with me also. We went to Borders four, five times a week and read books and curled up together in corners and those are some of the most illuminated, peaceful, joyous and perfect times of my life. I miss him. I just miss him so much.

And then I look at my children still at home. I love them so deeply and like them so much and if their childhoods were to spin by and outward away from me, where my heart and mind never caught up, I would never forgive myself. This picture of Ever feels like a million years ago and yet it was not even a full year. Time moves inside our children's very bones with a swiftness that takes your breath no matter how deeply you know its truth. I have to meditate and let that move into the sadness.

I cannot run from this pain. I know if I do, I will be doing my children a great disservice. I know that part of my depression is chemical and so I take the pill. I know that the other part is my marriage and so I do this: I care for myself. I care for my children. I care for my husband, whatever that can look like at any given moment. I can say I"M ANGRY and I am, like a great big fucking bull I"M ANGRY. I want my old marriage back, the one that is documented so beautifully here for all those years. 

This depression is so large because I cannot face one thing: I cannot control what is happening.

Rage.

And then emptiness.

The gut wrenching emptiness of despair. So I must move toward this bull with my red cape thrown down. I will be gored. I will bleed. I will cry. I will tell you about it, over and over again, until suddenly I feel that I am not in the ring anymore, because I have stopped fighting.

Breathe.