When it all hurts.
I’m sitting at Starbucks working. Never far from my mind are Kaden, Preston, Julian. Always there.
As I work on a post about Bella’s funny misunderstanding of death, a man places a baby around the same age Kaden would be today, on the table in front of me. The baby is smiling and waving, and his father walks off to grab a coffee a few feet away.
I am left with a straight on view of his beautiful little boy smiling at me from a car seat covered in elephants.
With a blanket over it exactly like the one I wrapped Kaden in as he took his last breaths.
I can hardly muster the strength to lean my head against the wall and fight back my tears, eyes anywhere but on him. I tell myself, “This baby has nothing to do with yours. He is different. You can’t cry here. This child has nothing to do with you or Kaden. There are lots of babies the same age as him in the world. You need to get used to this.”
Yet my heart is aching for my son so bad that as I type this, minutes after the father finally leaves with his child, I am left with tear filled eyes and a writing focus gone. I can’t think of anything else but how bad it hurts and why God would allow that to happen to me today. Why that little boy? Why facing me? Why elephants?
Why why why why why why why
I have no answers. I know this is going to happen time and time again. It still does. It all hurts. Twins. Pregnancies. Newborns. Little boys. Big families. Toddlers. Boy clothes. Elephants.
All triggers. All where I can try to rationalize, “It’s not about you. It’s just life.”
But it just reminds me over and over again what I lost.
I hate being like this. And no, it’s never going to go away or get better. I just get a bit more numb or learn how to handle it.
Whatever. I don’t understand any of this.