Friday, September 19, 2014


Some days surviving is easier than others.  It just is.  The routine is there.  I get up way too early.  Make the coffee.  Praise God for the coffee.  And everything else, too, of course.  Try to read the Bible before reading the email.  Try to get clothes on and teeth brushed before school drop off.  Play with Littles all day.  Really try to get dressed before school pick up.  Feed kids snacks and help with homework.  Cook dinner.  Thank God that yoga pants work as both pajamas and clothes so Hubs doesn't even realize I'm still not dressed yet when he gets home from work.  Put kids to bed, pretend for five seconds that I really am going to do those dishes tonight, transfer the laundry to the dryer and go to bed.  Wash.  Rinse.  Repeat. 

But then there are days, sometimes weeks, that surviving is hard work. Everything is just harder. Everything.  Breathing.  Smiling.  Remembering to put the snack in Little Man's backpack.  Remembering to eat.  Not crying.  Not imploding or withdrawing from the world completely.

It seems like it should be getting easier.  It's been almost four years now.  And I've said before that learning how to work around the gaping hole in my heart, the coping part, how that is getting easier.  But not always.  Not this week.

This week Little Lady jumped out of her stroller on the way to pick up to point out the two Jays that flew down on the branch right next to us.  And I had to sit down in the middle of the road because I couldn't stop sobbing.  That was on J's birthday.  And I cried the whole three block walk to the school, cried on the playground while other moms tried really hard to not notice.  Cried though the cake making and the dinner cooking.  Instead of singing Happy Birthday, Hubs and I cried through a cheers for Jameson and then, because we all just needed a freaking break from the tears, we watched Goonies.  It's been a big movie week.

It's five days later and I'm on my way to MOPS.  This is a new group and the first day.  Little Lady and I left early because it's outside our five-mile bubble and I am anxious.  We arrive early.  Like 20 minutes early.  I want to sit in the car and text.  Little Lady wants to go to church school.  We compromise and walk around the block.  Three houses from the entrance to the church, there's this house with a great front yard garden full of dinosaurs.  Dinosaurs everywhere.  And all I can think is how meant to be this all is.  How I'm supposed to be here this early and walk past this house and think about my boy.  And I'm trying so hard not to cry on this already impossibly hard week just made harder. I'm trying so hard not to walk into this church for the first time with a swollen face and say hi, nice to meet you, I'm the crazy crying lady.  God help me not be that crazy lady, at least not today.

I only cried a little and I hope nobody noticed. 

But the dam broke on the way home and I almost had to pull the car over and its been almost four years and I'm still needing to pull over on the sides of roads for the ugly crying.  And I don't know what I'm doing.  It NEVER feels easy, these days where I'm still here and Jameson is not. And all these people keep telling me how strong I am, how they don't know how I do it, like its the thing to be proud of or something.

I read the book Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand a little over a year ago and I remember wondering why he just didn't give up?  Why did he bother to keep living through the hell he was in?  But the thing is, you can't help it.  This whole living thing is worth the fight, even when it's hell.  And it feels all wrong to call it hell because how can I?  My life is beautiful.  But it is so heavy too.  And its exhausting to have it be both like this every day. 

I don't think it's ever gonna get easier.  Sometimes I think it is getting harder.  It's been so long since he was here.  So long since I've held my boy and kissed his forehead.  It's been more than four years since he's danced or laughed or cried my name.  And I still long to scoop him up and make it all better.  But he's gone and I can't make anything better.  I can't fix him or my broken heart. 

1 comment:

  1. I haven't caught up here in a while. You brought tears to my eyes. You're not the crazy crying lady. You're the loving mama who is doing your best to take great care of your kiddos here on earth while missing like crazy your little guy in Heaven. Not crazy. Real, and full of love.