I'm a duck

I’m a duck…

One of the very few days Will was home while Raz was still in the NICU Raz had to have a minor procedure done. We knew it was coming but we didn’t know it would be done that morning. I was there, alone. Will is the strong, stoic one. His catch phrase should be “it’ll be fine.” I, however, am the emotional one.

During the procedure Will text to ask how I was doing. “I’m a duck” was my response, meaning I look calm but under the surface there’s all sorts of insanity going on.

I’m a duck.

Last night after one of the baby’s feedings I laid in bed for what seemed like forever. I couldn’t sleep. My insides are all in knots.

Until a few months ago I couldn’t see or feel anything beyond my own ache. The pain was so big, so loud, so all consuming that quite frankly I didn’t care what was happening to the rest of the world. In recent months that has changed. Raz’s birth has propelled me into a new season of mourning. The pain is no less but it feels as if this precious new life has allowed me to unbolt some of the locks confining it to a single chamber in my heart. My missing for Damon has been given more space inside me. I think I may be mourning more fully now. The pressure is less, the missing is becoming more of who I am.

I’m sad. I’m so so sad.

I have to resist the urge to stop being honest about how deeply sad I am. It seems that my world is consumed with celebrating our new child. That is good. Raz is good. Raz is beyond good. Damon is still gone. So, I’m a duck.

A few days ago Will and I sat helpless in our living room and watched an F5 tornado form just a few miles south. We watched it rip through a town and destroy an elementary school. The bile rises as I write this. Shortly after we watched parents race down a debris strewn street toward what used to be a school.

I know…

I know.

Last night as I lay watching the lights blink on my son’s monitor, telling me his heart was beating, telling me that he was breathing I couldn’t get those images out of my head. Then I wondered why I was trying to dismiss them. They shouldn’t be dismissed. They should haunt me.

So now I’m searching for a way to incorporate this new pain into my life, this pain that aches with every story of lost life, this sickness that wont go away.

I don’t want Damon forgotten. I don’t want to feel like I need to look like I’m ok when I’m not. Good after horror does not negate the horror.

I will not look away.