I don't know...

I've been trying to cobble this post together for weeks now.

I don't know what I want to say exactly. I don't know the words to make my thoughts coalesce into something that feels adequate enough.

I'm realizing one of my worst fears right now. I'm living a personal hell that I prayed would never exist for me. Where do I go? Who do I turn to that can fix this shit because it is broken? I'm broken.

I know plenty of people who have dealt with much worse, and yet to me this is tragic. I don't know where my life goes from here. I don't have a plan. I always have a plan, even if it is to have no set plans at all. I don't operate without a plan.

I have a head full of hurt for things that I know are coming. It's like sitting on the railroad tracks and watching the train bear down on you and not being able to run away. You can see what's coming but you're powerless to stop it.

This fucking sucks. Right now it sucks to be me in some of the worst ways. Nothing in life prepared me to be this scared, this viciously tormented in my own head. There are too many what if's and not enough this is it's.

I need answers like a man in the desert needs water. They are essential to my life. Without knowing, I am left adrift in a sea of what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

Dammit. I hate waiting but I'm not sure I'm ready for what's coming either. Can I pull myself back together after the train gets to me?

Can I do this?

My Grabby...

“Where are my kisses?”, I ask with a big smile on my face because I know what’s coming.

That thumb goes straight in your mouth and you hide your head under your blankets, giggling the entire time.

I lean in snuffle through the blankets and you giggle even harder. In a flash I pull the blanket off of you and you squeal and try to escape me. I grab you up and bury my face in your hair searching for your neck so I can pretend like I’m chewing on you.

You giggle and wiggle and try to push me away. I blow raspberries on your belly and get loud belly laughs in return.

Your eyes twinkle at me, all humor and playfulness. I try to put your pants on your head and you snatch them away and throw them in the floor. I pretend indignation and you giggle and throw your shirt over the side of the changing table.

“That’s it!” and I grab you up and tickle you silly then hold you as you lean towards the floor to retrieve your clothes. We spend the next several minutes in a tug-of-war for your pants, then your shirt, then your shoes as you try to delay getting dressed and continue the play for as long as you can get away with.

I cherish the excuse to procrastinate myself. I could listen to your sweet giggles all day.

Once you’re dressed and standing before me on the changing table, I straighten your shirt and you throw your arms around my neck and give me a tight hug. I’d stay in your embrace as long as you’d let me.

Right now we dance the tango between independence and a fierce need for your mommy. You alternately crush my heart to a million pieces and then melt them all back together with your head on my shoulder.

I do love this dance we share, my Gabberellie…

My Screech...

You pitter patter down the hallway, fingers in your mouth, blue bunny in your arms pressed tightly against your chest. Your hair sticking out all over your head and your pajamas wrinkled.

“I think I need to go to the daycare.” Yes, for today you do. Mommy has to go to work as bad as she doesn’t want to. I’d rather stay here and play with you all day.

“I think I need my shoes on.” “Yes, baby, but not until Mommy gets your shorts and your socks on.” I smile at you and cross my eyes and you giggle at me.

I grab your foot and try to nibble your toes. You argue with me that I cannot eat your toes, no matter how good they taste. You giggle some more as I try to nibble the toes on your other foot. “No, I can’t eat those either, huh?” “No, Mommy. MY feet.”.

More giggles as I tickle you as I sit you up. You lean straight into me and wrap your arms around my waist, squishing your bunny between us for a group hug.

“I think I need to get down.” I think you think too much. I think you need to sit right here and let me hug you some more.

I remember nights with your tiny frame laying on my chest, my hands cocooning you to me. My tiny terror, scream so loud and high-pitched that my brother called you The Pterodactyl, yet you hold my heart in those tiny hands with that tiny voice.

I could listen to you speak all day in that barely-there whisper that is you. I do love your tiny little self so much, Wee Might.

My Noggin...

You always wake up smiling. You repeat back to me the words I’ve shared with you in love...”Good morning, Buddy!”.

“I love your shirt. I love your hair.” Followed by your hands in my hair and your cheek pressed to my heart.

“You give me hugs.” And indeed, I do. Fierce hugs with repeated declarations of a love so big it makes my heart hurt sometimes.

“Mommy gets the best hugs EVER!” And she means it.

My love for you, my big boy, is endless. Know this always because it will always be so.

My mother and my 100th post...

There are days your love wraps around me like a blanket, as palpable as the way you run your hand across my forehead into my hair when I lay my head in your lap.

There are days your love is like a hammer, trying to beat the sense of your wisdom acquired by age into me so that I don’t have to suffer the same fate you’ve already experienced.

There are days your love is as constant as the passage of time, there and present and unrelenting.

There are days your love hurts, like the fear in your voice when you speak of your worries for me.

There are days your love is like diamonds, it shines in your eyes and glimmers like rain drops in the sunshine. Pure and clear and brilliant.

There are days your love is like lasagna, layered, thick, slightly spicy but comforting and filling.

There are days your love is like driving behind someone slow when you’re in a hurry, pressing and demanding with a fierce speed.

There are days your love is like a slap in the face, quick and sharp, leaves you stinging but cannot be ignored.

There are days your love is spoken in so many unspoken ways, the Gatorade in my fridge when I was puking my own Mother’s Day away.

There are days your love is spoken, in my ear as your wrap your arms around me and hug me tightly. I love you, Babygirl.

I love you, too, Mini-Mom.

Happy Belated Mother’s Day…

A day of ghosts...

Today has been a day of ghosts.

First it was you, Papaw. A story of the death of a grandparent brought you back to me in full force. I remembered the day you sat and told me stories from your blue recliner with your oxygen tube under your nose and your thick nails pecking on the table beside the recliner.

You laughed so hard you had a coughing fit at me asking you questions about when you were little and my reactions to the stories you told me. They were definitely stories because I would listen in wide-eyed wonder and you knew I was eating it up and then you would just laugh and laugh because I believed you until I started to see where it didn’t fit together. You had so much fun jerking my chain. I still chuckle myself to think about it.

Then it was you, little brother. You always come to me at the oddest times. Reading a post from another blogger where she asked people who knew her if or how she had changed since the death of her baby. You came to me because there are ways I can pinpoint exactly how I’ve changed since I lost you. The quiet moments aren’t moments when my heart stills anymore. They’re moments when I stop breathing because the hurt is too great. I’ll never see a lightening bug that I won’t think of you after the night I spent watching a sea of lightening bugs fly in the graveyard where you are buried. They were so beautiful, even through my tears. I talked to you for hours that night and I cried myself dry.

You’ve been to see me today, too. Apparently when my heart grows heavy, you feel a need to help me hold the burden. I’m grateful.

Then it was Chloe. I’ve never spoken your name aloud to anyone because I didn’t want anyone to know how much it hurt me to lose you. I barely knew I was pregnant when I lost you. I had just enough time to dream for you and tattoo your name on my heart and you were gone. I’ll never know if you would have been my red-headed cutie. I’ll never know if you would have liked that outfit I picked out for you. I wanted you. I wanted you so bad. It shattered my heart to lose you and I had so much anger for so long. It wasn’t fair. It still isn’t fair.

Here you are, in my thoughts and visiting me. I imagine that my brother has met you and my Papaw has held you in his lap and sniffed your curls. He was a sucker for a baby. I can’t wait to hold you myself. You are a dream to me. My beautiful little girl, trapped in my head and my heart instead of in my arms. One day, I’ll hold you. Until then, you’re welcome to haunt me, my sweet girl.

I just wanted to acknowledge that today I’ve been visited by ghosts…and I’ve smiled some in memory.

Love...

If I promise not to break you...

will you love me?