Paint and leggos

I’ve been very functional lately. I think maybe the huge, gargantuan, massive relief that God didn’t take Isaiah from me may have propelled me into a bit of a “calm.” That coupled with my eldest’s need for constant post-surgical attention has kept me pretty firmly in mommy mode.

These days at home with a cuddly (and needy) six year old have given us a chance to reconnect. I think Isaiah has gotten some of the much needed attention he was missing and I’ve started to rediscover what it means to be mom.

But the few times I have moved into a period of… I don’t know what to call it… not bawling my eyes out every day? I’ve come to acknowledge when the wave crashes again that much of the “calm” was actually suppression. Don’t look at it, don’t acknowledge it, just keep moving. I’ve kept moving. I’m freaking exhausted.

Today Isaiah and I ventured out of the house to get supplies for one of my projects. In the store my heart nearly fractured with the effort it took to avoid looking at or feeling anything. When we got back to the house I couldn’t find my purchases. I have no idea where they went. Did I leave the store with them? Did I bring them inside? I have no memory of checking out, of leaving the store, of driving back to the house… apparently my paint got sucked into the void with my memory. I nearly screamed in frustration. This is what it is ALWAYS like. I can’t remember… why am I in this room? What was I about to say? Missing, pain and frustration piled on top of me.

Then Isaiah asked “Mommy, where are my leggos?” I almost puked. The answer? They’re in Damon’s room. Damon commandeered them a few months before he died. The kid LOVED leggos. They are still scattered willy-nilly about the house. I tend to leave them where they lie. I can’t move them. I couldn’t handle saying the words out loud so I changed the subject. Stellar parenting Jodie. 

Today = another epic fail.