Kaden is home.
I hate this.
I can’t believe we have to do this again. I’m tired of thinking that and hearing myself say it but it’s how I feel.
Again. Again. Again.
We have to grieve again.
I look at our little shelf of – well. Death. Shelf of death. And I wonder, “How many more Lord?”
Or will we just stop? There won’t be a chance for another?
I hate that I feel this way. That his life is intertwined with the grief of losing Preston and Julian. That he isn’t going to get separate mourning because it can’t be separated from his brothers. I don’t like feeling angry about having to grieve again, and yet I do and that’s all there is to it. I’m not going to feel guilty about being mad I have to do this again.
No matter how I feel or don’t feel, he’s not coming back. I could cry or lay in bed or do what I’m doing and just plod along waiting for the next
A. Shoe to drop
B. Blessing to happen
and it won’t change the fact that he is sitting on my little shelf of death forever.
How morbid. How awful. I often wonder what people thought when they saw the twins urn. Now we have two. Like people show off trophies.
“Oh, look – three sons…”
Let me tell you about them, OH WAIT. I didn’t even get to know two and the son I finally held I only knew through tears and pain and prayer. Now we get to plan another memorial service that I honestly do not want to do. I just want to pretend it never happened. Of course that’s not “healing.”
This isn’t pretty. I’m not going to dress it up and tell you that my shelf is a way to honor them or they’re looking down on us or any of that bullshit.
It’s awful. I wish I wasn’t this person. It feels wrong to put them out and wrong to put them in the closet and I’m left grasping on just what to do with 3 little lives that changed ours forever, while fighting with, “What kind of a family puts their dead kids on a shelf with the autumn decorations?”
It’s all so incredibly horrible and horribly funny in a terrible sort of way where you laugh (as I did) reading that last sentence and then your throat chokes up a bit trying to rationalize it and you can’t. Life and grief and humor and joy and anger and hope all intertwined and it feels some days like one is trumping the other. But in the end nothing changes what happened. Shelf or closet. Anger or grief. It is what it is.
And it’s horrible.