I fell into a hole last week and got stuck there. It wasn’t the result of being caught off guard with a “how many children do you have?” question, another “first” or even a bittersweet reminder. I simply had a string of bad days where I was feeling empty and missing my son – his smile, his laugh, his pranks and his hugs. And, his little girl started back to school so I was especially sad that she didn’t have him there for her first day.
The loss is so visceral and, at times, all-consuming that even my body hurts. I’ve discovered that my body knows the date before I ever look at a calendar. My “monthly cycle is centered around the 7th – the day my son died. It starts late in the day on the 5th when I find myself feeling weepy, and the waves of emotion continue for the next 2 days….. it’s as if the body that bore him aches because he is gone.
My husband would give anything to be able to help when these waves hit, but he has come to accept that there isn’t anything he (or anyone else) can do. The only comfort I have is that which God provides. Well, last week, my husband asked me, “Isn’t it true that a mother would do absolutely anything to protect her child?”
I started to remember my pregnancy dreams: my son in the road and the oncoming car bearing down on him; me racing at lightning speed … reaching him just in time to push him to safety. I had so many of these type of dreams all throughout his childhood; different variations but the same ending: I took on the impact so that he would be saved.
My husband’s point? That is exactly what I am doing now. Had I stepped in front of a car for my son, he would have been safe (and I would have suffered as I recovered from the impact). Well, he is now safe and happy. And yes, I am suffering as I try to rebuild my life.
I have to remind myself that my son was given to me for a time, and now he is home. My work is done.