Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Fog

I let myself cry tonight. I watched the slideshow I made for him and I felt the tears well up in my eyes and I cried. I looked from his face to hers and back again.

I think for the most part I've been in a fog these past 10 weeks. I look at the pictures from the first few weeks that Hannah was home with us and I can see it written all over my face. I thought I could handle it- that no one else could tell, but I was kidding myself.
The sadness, the confusion, the exhaustion of trying to keep it all together... it was all there. One thing that strikes me the most is the emptiness I felt. My arms still felt empty even though they were never without Hannah for very long.

Now that the fog is lifting, I understand better.

I miss him. I feel his absence in ways I couldn't before. I didn't know what it was like to hold your child and have their eyes lock with yours. I couldn't imagine what his cries would sound like or what expressions he would make.

It's an adjustment. It's been confusing and frustrating. I don't want to lock my grief into a closet and hide it away. I don't want to ignore it anymore; this only serves in adding to the fog.
The grief roller-coaster never tires of sending me into a tailspin. I didn't know that my arms could be so full and yet still hold so much emptiness.

I have to learn to live with my grief now that my arms hold more than just emptiness.

5 comments:

Tonya said...

I'm so glad you posted this. It's such a delicate balance and fine line. It's a little different situation, but people used to always tell me after Grady went to heaven, "At least you have your girls." Yes. At least I have them, but they weren't (and still aren't) him. They don't take his place just like he would never take their place. I'm sure I will need to read this post again after Dumplin' is born. Our babies in heaven have their own place in our hearts and in our arms, even if they aren't physically in them. I'm glad you let those feelings out and shared with us.

I love you.
Tonya

Kelly said...

"I have to learn to live with my grief now that my arms hold more than just emptiness." You're exactly right. I've been wondering how things were going for you and how conflicted you were feeling...having and loving Hannah while missing Owen.

Your two children have a wonderful mother.

Sara said...

Oh Ebe, my heart goes out to you... I can only imagine to a degree what it must be like to finally have a child living with you here but still missing your son every day. I know what the missing is like, but I know that having another child after that loss adds a whole other dimension to the grief... you are seeing and experiencing all that you didn't with Owen and that is so hard. Ebe, I will be praying... praying for the Lord to comfort you, allow you to continue to grieve however is best, allow you to fully enjoy your precious gift in Hannah, yet allow you to miss Owen at the same time. Joy and Pain all at once... what a balance... what a journey.

I love you friend and am praying!
Sara

Rebecca said...

I don't understand exactly how you feel, but it always seemed that people who've lost a child who already have children had a different kind of difficulty: they know what they're missing. I mean, it's painful whichever way you look at it. But now you know. You know what you've been missing. Every time I look at my girls, every smile, every milestone, I know what I'm missing.

I pray your joy will overwhelm your sorrow.

Ashley said...

Wish I was there to give you a big hug. Hannah is just precious and I know Owen would be just as thrilled with his little sister if he were here. I wish so badly for you that he were here. One day we will all be together and what a wonderful day that will be. No more sorrow!

Love and hugs to you,
ashley