These last few days have been intense. Its so hard to believe and recall what happened a month ago today. It seems unfathomable. But they said dates would be hard...anniversaries too.
At times it seems to hurt more now.
Because I am no longer in shock...and as each day goes on, reality sets in just a little more than the day before.
So it will get worse before it gets better.
Grief is strange. One would think that each day would get easier since Will's passing. That as time goes on, everything would start falling into place and become bearable.
It just doesn't work that way.
There are no rules.
No stages of sadness.
It just starts each day with putting one foot in front of the other...and finding something, anything, that matters. Even if its only for that day...and sometimes I have to start even smaller than that~ I have to find something that matters for only that moment.
Something that my energy can be put into that would make a person feel productive again.
Will was my purpose.
Now I don't have one.
And I have to find one.
And I am not going to read Rick Warren's "Purpose Driven Life" again. Because it won't help.
And that is my problem. I'm beginning to resent this emotional roller coaster.
Up and down...but seriously...its been heading down for such a long time, I'm ready for it to go up.
The only thing that will help...is time...and for now, sharing the few memories and pictures I have of Will.
And so I cling to my faith that things HAVE to get better...they just have to...
Every day I write, talk to Will, pray, read a devotional...and then repeat that numerous times. Some days are okay. Then I have moments where I completely panic.
My brain keeps playing over our last day with Will. All the "what ifs" and remembering different little details...
Like when the doctor was standing beside Will's bed telling us he was going to die and didn't have a chance of survival...I was sitting there filling out his "Humble Bumble Baby Book" that the A.V.C.S. staff had given me before we left. I was literally writing his birth date on the front cover page...and I remember looking at it and thinking in my head if I should write it like this:
July 17, 2008-July 19, 2008
I didn't panic then. Not yet.
That panic was pushed aside by disbelief...by shock that this wasn't really happening.
And now that panic has found its way to the surface.
What gets me the most is the thought of his little heart. It was perfect and it was strong. Every day in the hospital I would listen to it on the monitor for 20 minutes first thing in the morning and 20 minutes at night. Many people who visited were able to listen with me.
I just got use to hearing it. And after he died and I was going through a box of things the NICU had sent home with us...I found it.
His last heartbeat strip.
His steady heartbeat shown in a perfect pattern on a long strip of paper. His name at the beginning...July 19, 2008 under it...and then the time 5:08 p.m....the last moments before they removed him from all the equipment.
It was only then that I realized it was no longer beating...
When that little heart began to beat...I don't know exactly when.
And when that little heart stopped beating...we don't know exactly when.
All that matters is we were together from the beginning to the end.
In these moments when sadness is literally suffocating, I know eventually the pain will dull.
But I am convinced that the rest of my life will consist of being... almost happy.