<p>No antidepressants this year, no xanex or self prescribed numbing agents, its all pretty raw. I keep so busy all year long to save my children from my own fear and anxiety and It's all to eager propensity to become consuming. Then one time a yeae we must force ourselves to slow down and just grieve. This year it feels as if the years angst has all been saved up for the last few weeks and October 1st it sends the floodgates open. Its funny how I know to expect this and yet somehow at my absolute bitchiest come the 3rd or the 4th the realization hits like a brick in the face. I've come to notice that now than grieving the kids these days is managing the fear. Complete, paralyzing, irrational, overwhelming, awful fear. There is a piece of someone that is taken out with any loss and I won't begin to compare holes with anyone else's heartache but there seems to be a unique grief to holding a still son incapable of opening his eyes and taking a breath, still warm, yet so lifeless and only moments before caused internal pitter patters in my abdomen that creates a memory so deeply seared in ones heart it is incapable of finding words. Pain that is not documented by a birth or death certificate. Pain of a life that was only real for me. Even more gripping is the fear... The kind of fear that makes it difficult to drop your child off at school or let them leave, even when it's with family, for the weekend. The kind of fear that makes a carseat, sturdy vehicle, and the most careful of defensive driving not enough. Fear that compulsively makes you climb out of bed to check on them in the middle of the night not once, twice, but three times. Your memory is my greatest teacher. Not a single breath is taken for granted and every hug is gold. And for the safekeeping of that, every night I tuck you snugly into bed, sing you a lullaby, let the dog inside, check on the rifle in the closet, and deadbolt the front and back doors before fighting for a restless sleep.
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I decided to blog today....
10 years ago