Taking Things Slow
So often we spread ourselves thin with the intention of greatness. We set goals and write “to-do” lists. Many times I run through the evening thinking about all the things to do tomorrow to find its bed time again. Over the past few months I have been making a conscious effort to make the evening time, time to spend with Luke. He is growing up so fast. His vocabulary is multiplying by the day and the things that he’s interested in playing, or watching or reading just amaze me. I want to be a part of that. If that means I become an expert at what Ryder, Chase, Marshall, Rubble, Rocky and Sky are doing, I’m okay with that. I want to remember all of this. And I want to really enjoy it.
It’s November 1. I really can’t believe that. I know everyone gets to November and says that, but I’m saying it for a different reason this year. It’s nearly three months since Toby left this earth. He will be six months old over the Thanksgiving holiday and seven months old right after Christmas. As much as I just talked about being present for Luke and enjoying those moments, these next eight weeks scare me. This will be one of the loneliest holiday seasons for Dan and me. How can we watch all the kids open presents and take pictures and open holiday cards and not just want to pull the covers over our head and cry until January?
I know I’ve said it before, but fall has always been my favorite season. So many fun things happen in the fall, but this year I’m just sad and angry. I’m sure people would say “you have a right to be” or “no one expects anything from either of you” but those statements make me angrier. I’m angry because I won’t experience Luke & Toby enjoying Christmas together, or Luke showing Toby his presents, or photos of our family of four – with Toby physically here. These feelings of anger have been consuming my days lately. I can let go of a little bit of the overwhelming feeling by writing and letting it out. But I can’t let it all go. Maybe it’s not the right thing to do, but we’ve been told by so many “there is no right thing now.”
Thinking of his beautiful blue eyes makes my throat tighten and my eyes well. Whenever I leave the house now, or do something out of routine, I find myself telling him where we’re going, or how long we’ll be gone “We’re just going to work today.” Or “We’re going outside to play with Luke – you can come too.” I’ve been told that he’s not in any one spot – he’s not in his room, he’s not at the cemetery, but maybe, for now, those are the places that I want him to be. The places I feel closest to him. The places I can talk to him and cry for him. The places that I can touch something of his or smell something that may still have a hint of his newborn smell on it. Right now that’s all I have to cling to – that some part of Toby is there – and that he knows where we are and what we’re doing and that we’ll never do anything without wishing he was there with us. Our family of four.