The days are getting longer in the north where I am. Winter filled. Snow, ice, cold.
I feel I have been doing better, whatever better means. I take better with some reservation, because every day is still hard and painful. Better is hard making itself comfortable. Hard being the new adopted normal. I felt proud of myself about a year after he died that there was a day I didn’t cry. Then I felt guilty. Was the memory fading, was love fading? The questions that are always present somewhere and resurface every now and then. There is no weakness in feeling guilty, no weakness in questioning, no weakness in anxiety that is the source of both – guilt and questions. These feelings just exist, within. The further he is away the more harder becomes normal. I am not always sure if I am doing enough, if I talk about him enough, if I mention him enough, if I think about him enough. My life is so different from what I had pictured, before, during and after. I find it hard to find balance where I feel fine with how much/little I share about my boy, my family and myself. Is there too much or too little? I feel like a broken record sometimes, but the truth is, my truth, that I feel the same, I miss him, I love him, I long for him, for his hugs, his kisses, his voice, laughter. I miss him being a present part of our family, a play partner to his siblings, dad’s little helper, my sweet boy… all of it. That has not changed, that has not become better or worse. That is. My memories of his death, birth, him are changing, the little details transform as the time passes, not so detailed, a little bit blur, reshaped. This is where time and I will always have a conflict.
With Love, Tina