The Quest

I'm supposed to be mudding and taping my ceiling right now.  That is what nap times are for: work.  But I am just all jumbled in my brain and feeling rather sad and discouraged and frustrated at the world for a million things that are so far beyond my control.  And I think if I can just work it all out enough to actually put a real idea on paper, maybe that will be enough to quiet the raging in my brain for even just a moment. 

First off, I'm just missing my Jameson a LOT this week.  Little Man is taking swim lessons every morning at the local community center and there are two sweet little boys with DS at the pool every morning when we get there.  And they are so cute and so snuggly and I just look at them and feel how much I'm missing out every day with my Jameson gone.

And Little Lady is developmentally right around where Jameson was when he got sick.  And I see him dancing around the room in that special toddler way when she starts.  And I see him learning to talk and jabber with that sweet voice when she does.  And I see him wave to every person on the face of the earth with the cutest hand ever made when she waves.  And it goes on and on and on.  And some of it is awesome.  Because it pulls the memories so close and makes me feel them and him so close.  It drags up things from the vault that I maybe thought were lost.  But having the thoughts and the memories so close like that brings the void just that much closer too.  And every dance party and chat session and friendly interaction takes my breath away.

And I know this phase will go fast and soon it will be over and she'll all of a sudden be this big girl and bigger than her big brother ever got to be.  And I imagine that will knock the wind out of me in just another way.  I think losing a child means never ever getting to just breath ever again. 

And we are still in the meeting people stage, where everyone asks how many kids we have and wants to know about them and even though I have my "answer," it always catches me off-guard and I never know what to say.  And sometimes I say two and sometimes I say three.  And sometimes I say my kids are 7, 5, and 1 and other times I smile and change the subject.  A lot of the time I say my 3 yr old is in heaven and he would be 5 now.  And sometimes I sound brave and matter of fact and I hear myself saying these things and wonder how it can come out of my mouth without tears and scary emotion.  And other times my chin quivers and I look at the ceiling and do deep breathing in the hopes of keeping the ugly crying away.  And all of the time I dread the whole thing. 

Sigh.

As if that isn't enough.

But there is more making me crazy.  Always so much more.  And I find myself wishing I could just be less sensitive.  Why do I have to be such an emotional creature?  If we could just get through the next month or two without crying for no reason or losing tempers or taking every little thing too personally I think I could make it through.  And I said "we" on purpose, because Littles tend to feed off their Mamas and my Littles are not getting the right emotional nourishment right now.  And doesn't that guilt just add to it?  The inadequacies list could really get out of hand if I wasn't so careful to keep logic from flying out the door. 

I read just yesterday that "I have enough because I have Him" and it really spoke to me.  Even when I'm at my wit's end, and the house is a disaster, and I just got turned down for another job, and the baby is crying, and the big boy doesn't understand why I can't drop everything for the 189th time today to look at the spider crawling on the windowsill, and the dogs are barking and the sink is full to the brim with yesterday's dishes and the home improvement projects seem to be multiplying, I have to remember that I have enough because I have HIM.

And when that sinks in and settles into my bones and brain, it makes it a little easier to breath for the first time in what seems like forever.

 It seems like it should be easy to stay there.  To rest in that promise; to just stay there and keep breathing easy.   And it's not.  Not at all.  The baby cries again.  The laundry piles overflow again.  The mess of life interrupts all that is Holy and Good.  And I look around and watch as my sanity threatens to fly once again and I think how much I want peace like a river.  Peace.  When the rapids of life are pushing and pulling and beating against the rocks.  HE offers that peace.  And isn't that what we all want?  To be able to navigate through the messes and carnage and disasters that abound with peace?  To just keep breathing? 

It is a quest unending, I think.  There is no perfection here, but this quest will lead me there one day.  One day the peace that we can only find in pieces will be made whole.