There are some days lately – as I start to become less sick, less tired, a little more hopeful – that I look at all we’ve gone through in the past three years and all we are both facing and looking forward to in the upcoming months…
And I feel happy again.
Little bits. Tiny moments of joy where Bella sits next to me chatting, I knit, Sam and I talk, Charlie is on his bed at our feet, the cats are probably somewhere barfing. It all spins together and I feel just so fiercely proud and protective of what we have. Our memories, our hurts, our ability to come back together time and again. Sometimes I feel like we could face anything at this point.
I still have moments of deep sadness. But those are turning into moments I cherish, while wishing I didn’t have them. Oh I wish so much my little boys were all here. Yet the grief that still can overwhelm me is a reminder of how I still love and yearn for them. It’s almost a comfort to cry so hard in therapy that I can’t breathe, my eyes swell, and my heart feels just like it did in the time I had with each of them. Totally broken for the lives they never got to live.
But it’s a reminder to me. No, you didn’t forget. Not one little minute of their time here. It matters so much two and three years later. No one will ever love them as much as I do, ever. Still. Forever. I love them just as much as I adore the little girl beaming up at me.
I love that. I love that I’m close to those moments and close to life here and it’s starting to become more ok with me – not all the time, maybe it won’t ever be – but sometimes.