My tears fall with loud plops and splats. I can hear them now whether they land on the scarf around my neck or on the ground by my feet, ...I hear them. They're the biggest tears I've ever seen. Once, on our way into Hugh's office, I heard one land on the floor and looked down to see the puddle it created, somewhat amazed at my new superpower: super tears.
Most of me is miserable. I still see beauty in nature, enjoy sunrises and sets, love a pretty flower..., but I'm sad. Sometimes I think I'm the saddest person on earth. I'm pretty sure though that every other grieving parent feels the same.
I'm forty-one today. On my fourteenth birthday my mother's mother died. Last year, three days after my birthday, my mother died. Sixteen years ago my father died exactly two weeks after my birthday.
It's not a good day. It hasn't been for a long time. To me, it's the funeral season. The smell of the air, the sight of things trying to green up..., it all reminds me of loss. People have no idea what sort of anxiety this creates, and what it means to the fear of losing more.
Add the overwhelming grief for my little boy, who should be nearly eight months old right now..., it makes me physically ache.
I can imagine his baby laugh, and him crawling in the grass as I plan our garden. I can see his face clear as if he were here - aged perfectly to this time. I'd like to think of it as him still being with me in some way, but what it really does is emphasize the fact that he's not.
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| sweet dreams my angel Finn |
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