Hills and Valleys

I have heard it said that the grief journey is like a series of hills and valleys.  I am learning this to be true. 

After Oliver passed away, and the dust settled, I had about a week or two where I thought..."ok, I can do this.  My heart is broken, and I will never be the same, but you know what? I am going to be ok."  I had moments during this time where I wondered how the heck I was coping so well.  Did this mean I loved my son any less?  Why wasn't I curled up in a ball in my room, sobbing? How was I functioning like a normal human being still? Well my friends, this was purely just me on top of a hill.  Looking clearly at the new landscape in front of me.  Seeing the sadness behind me, and seeing, away in the distance, what was before me. 

 

And what proceeds the hills?  Why, the valleys of course!  And how fun are the valleys? (Insert extreme sarcasm here!).  In the two, approaching three, months that Ollie has been gone, I think I have been on a rollercoaster ride of ups and downs.  My journeys to the tops of these so-called "hills" do not last very long, but they do afford me a quick jolt of faith and a peak at the journey still left to travel, before I am booted back down again. 

The last two weeks?  Well the last two weeks I have been at the very bottom of the deepest darkest part of a valley.  Under the dirt.  With a boulder on top for good measure.  Okay, so maybe I am being just a tad dramatic.  To put it, not so very gracefully, the last two weeks have SUCKED!  A close friend ended up having her son early, and due to circumstances beyond anyones control, I ended up at her house, minding her daughter while she slept.  I had not slept well (read: at all) the night before, so I was beat before I even showed up at her house that night.  And in their haste, my dear friend and her hubby forgot to put away the boxes of baby boy clothes they had been organizing.  So I sat there, for hours, in a room of sweet baby boy clothes, knowing that my friend was about to meet her sweet son, and my son would forever and always, still be gone.  I returned home the next morning at 3:30am, just mentally and physically exhausted.

 That same week, I went in to work the night shift with a coworker I hadn't seen in awhile.  I was excited to be working with her again, and for the opportunity to just "catch up."  Towards the end of the shift she asked me if I would want to know straight up if someone at work became pregnant, or if I would prefer to sort of stay in the dark.  Umm...well...didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who she was talking about.  Turns out she is pregnant..with TWINS!! She is about to turn 42, and she and her husband have been trying to conceive for quite awhile...so I am thrilled for her...but also oh so jealous.  I believe I managed to put on a smile for her, and eeked out some congratulations, but boy was my heart already wrung dry from my friends sons birth a few days prior.

Add in a sick little boy who can't sleep, trouble finding quality childcare while my friend (and daycare provider) is suddenly off for the month of April weeks earlier than expected, some family drama and a flat tire on a brand new van...and you can understand why I am stuck in this darn valley.

Now don't get me wrong.  Some days I travel up and down this grief path multiple times.  I find myself feeling so sorry for myself for a few hours, then shake myself off, give myself a pep talk and a stern "one foot in front of the other" speech, and continue on.  But it is hard.  The hardest actually. 

Tomorrow we are celebrating Olivers memorial.  I say celebrating because that is sort of what it feels like to me.  A celebration of a life that never truly got to start, but that was so cherished anyways.  Ollie was so anticipated by myself and my family.  He was, is, and will always be a member of our clan, and I feel like it is right to send him off with all of the love and best wishes that we can muster up for him.  I am wondering how I am going to get through the day.  But I am guessing it will be much the same as the other 84 days since he passed.  A lot of breathing in and out.  And for now, if that's the best that I can do, then I give myself permission.  We are often toughest on ourselves aren't we? I have decided to give myself a break for a little while.  I turn 30 on the 19th, and Olivers due date is the next day, and I don't know what to expect.  How I will feel, or how I will cope.  Just one foot in front of the other right?

Just because I love his sweet face! No post is complete without it :)

(Note:  I just wanted to add that I am extremely happy for my friends and their sweet little ones that have arrived/are on the way.  Sometimes I think I come across as the wicked witch of the west in my "oh no..not another baby!" way of speaking.  But the truth is, I LOVE babies!! I want more babies myself.  I am just pretty fragile still.  And seeing/hearing about babies right now just has this crummy side effect of reminding me that my son is dead.  No real good way to sugar coat it sometimes.  Seeing facebook feeds of my best friends with their beautiful families, and their "big sister/big brother" t-shirts first time seeing their sibling in the hospital pictures...well those just do me in still.  I push myself to be present though.  Because that is who I am.  And one day I just know that I will see a baby and the first emotion that will spring forth will be pure joy.  One day.)