The Stroller

Ugggghhhhhh!!!

This sucks! This hurts! I miss him so much…

Today I decided Raz and I were going out. I’m restless and stir crazy and quite frankly running hard from a wave of grief and is washing at my heels. The crash is coming and I’m so tired of missing, hurting, raging being ruled by agony. I’m running, just like I always run, because I just don’t know how to stand still and be taken by this kind of pain. I just don’t know how.

I’ve been staring at Damon’s things for nearly a year and a half. I didn’t want to use any of them for Raz. Because it hurts. Because they’re Damon’s. Because… hell I don’t know. I just don’t.

But we just don’t live in that word. We can’t afford to buy a new carseat, a new stroller, a new high chair. Raz has been in Damon’s car seat since he came home from the NICU. I made my peace with that. It wasn’t that hard. Damon hadn’t ridden in that seat in over a year. But today I screwed up my courage and grabbed the stroller. It was filthy. A year and a half of life piled on top. I went after it with my Lysol wipes, determined to hold back the Tsunami of pain welling in my chest. I found myself apologizing over and over. “I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry.”

Then the gut punch.

I opened the stroller and there in the basket were his diapers. His diapers from our last nearly daily trip to the park to play. Him with his banana in hand and his big brother trotting along beside as I pushed. We were happy. God we were happy.

The river of tears broke through. It felt like something someone would think was poetic as they dripped on the stroller while I cleaned. It wasn’t poetic. It was hell. Just another day in the hell of being the mother of a dead child.

God this hurts…