I just can’t. Every Monday and Wednesday I would take Lillianna to karate, and while she was in class, I would take the boys to the park that is just a couple blocks down the street. It was so perfect. Gabe would hunt painted rocks and make new friends, and Milo would enjoy the swing, babbling and smiling at me the whole time, or he would play in/eat the sand in the sand pit.
Milo loved the swing. Some of the best smiles I have of him are at this park and in that swing. I can’t go back there, not without him. He loved the swing so much that we bought him one for his birthday – a toddler swing for indoors to use over the winter when it may not be park friendly weather. That swing now sits in the box in our garage with no purpose.
I feel trapped by all the things I can’t do anymore. I can’t do them because they hurt too much. I feel like I can’t hold it together enough to do them normally. I just can’t escape the feelings of panic when I am in a place or doing something that I routinely did with both boys. When I just take one boy, I can’t focus and all I can think about it how I should have two.
It’s not fair to Gabe. That makes me feel even worse. He doesn’t deserve to have this non-functioning parent who is too paralyzed by grief to take him to the park. Too dazed and disoriented to organize a grocery shopping trip, and remember if we have enough snacks.
I can’t figure out what to feed anyone. I don’t know the answers to any questions, and anytime I start to approach anything with a semi-normal mindset I am quickly reminded that the only reason I am doing any of these things, with this new abundance of free time, it’s because I don’t have a baby any more.
I think the numbness I’ve been feeling is wearing off. I’m starting to be aware of the physical pain. I don’t know how many times I can tell you that it hurts and have it conveyed properly. It just does. It is the most desperate and hopeless pain, and I can’t stop feeling it.
I had to google if grief causes headaches today. It does. It’s a headache unlike any other I’ve felt. I’ve drank enough water to float. Taken ibuprofen out the wazoo. Drank my usual amount of caffeine and ate a solid breakfast. Nothing has helped.
I just wish I could go back in time and do something different. I don’t even know what. Just something. Take just one more picture. Squish his cheeks just one more time. See him look up at me and smile as he nursed just. one. more. time. You never know when something mundane you do with your kids will be the last time. They just slip by unnoticed. Pay attention to them. Savor those last times. They matter.