Time, Forgiveness, and Holding On
Facebook was showing me memories from today in years past and, as often they do, this one included an adorable picture of Patrick at the doctor's office.
Looking at the date, I calculated that he would have been 28 months old in just over a week. 28 months old. And I began to wonder, what would he have been doing?
When Mira was 28 months old, I was newly pregnant with Patrick, and she was in the hospital getting her tonsils out. Would he have needed that? Would he be walking and laughing and playing with his sister, or would he still be struggling to sit up due to something we thought looked like a twist in his spine that never got fully evaluated because of everything else that happened? Would he have had a full head of bright, curly red hair like his daddy, or would it have darkened to brown like his sister's? How many more hospital visits would we have had? How many more snuggles, smiles, and family hugs? How is it that these memories feel like both forever ago and only yesterday, but the actual time of two years seems wrong?
My life is so different. Different both from what it was and what I had imagined it would be. Every day feels like a new hurdle to climb, but then again, so did every day we were dealing with two medically needy children. If Patrick were still here, life would not be easy. We would still be stressed. We would still be struggling to get by. That doesn't change that I still wish he were here. It also doesn't change that when he was here, I often wondered if life would be easier if he were gone. The answer, of course, was no. Not really. Some things got easier, but much of life got harder.
The truth is, no matter what you are struggling with, life will not be easier if it is gone. It will just be different. A new struggle will come. New stressors will arrive. You will wonder if you did the right thing. You will second-guess every choice you've made. It's human nature. What I am learning--I think--I hope--and what I am trying to do, is forgive myself. Life is hard enough without emotionally beating myself over the head. And, what the heck. Maybe if I write it down, I will actually believe it. It certainly can't hurt.
I forgive myself
For assuming that it wouldn't happen to us.
For thinking I would be able to handle whatever came along.
For being angry that I didn't get what I wanted.
For wishing things were other than the way they were.
For thinking thoughts that should never be spoken.
For thinking life could or would be better, easier.
For forgetting to take care of myself.
For forgetting to take care of my marriage.
For forgetting to take care of my daughter.
For forgetting that we are not the only ones grieving.
For feeling too much, not enough, or nothing at all.
For forgetting that grief is different for everyone.
For being angry that life goes on. Without him. Without me.
For wanting to leave.
For wanting to give up.
For wanting to die.
For wanting everything to have meaning and purpose.
For looking outward instead of inward for solutions.
For forgetting to ask for help, both physical and spiritual.
For being weak.
For not being true to myself.
For being me.
For being human.
Because I cannot ask others to do what I cannot ask of myself.
Hold on. Tomorrow will come.
Hold on. There is more love, joy, and laughter yet to experience.
Hold on. There are memories to remember.
Hold on. There are sorrows others need to share.
Hold on. The sun will rise again.
Hold on. The Son will rise again.
Looking at the date, I calculated that he would have been 28 months old in just over a week. 28 months old. And I began to wonder, what would he have been doing?
When Mira was 28 months old, I was newly pregnant with Patrick, and she was in the hospital getting her tonsils out. Would he have needed that? Would he be walking and laughing and playing with his sister, or would he still be struggling to sit up due to something we thought looked like a twist in his spine that never got fully evaluated because of everything else that happened? Would he have had a full head of bright, curly red hair like his daddy, or would it have darkened to brown like his sister's? How many more hospital visits would we have had? How many more snuggles, smiles, and family hugs? How is it that these memories feel like both forever ago and only yesterday, but the actual time of two years seems wrong?
My life is so different. Different both from what it was and what I had imagined it would be. Every day feels like a new hurdle to climb, but then again, so did every day we were dealing with two medically needy children. If Patrick were still here, life would not be easy. We would still be stressed. We would still be struggling to get by. That doesn't change that I still wish he were here. It also doesn't change that when he was here, I often wondered if life would be easier if he were gone. The answer, of course, was no. Not really. Some things got easier, but much of life got harder.
The truth is, no matter what you are struggling with, life will not be easier if it is gone. It will just be different. A new struggle will come. New stressors will arrive. You will wonder if you did the right thing. You will second-guess every choice you've made. It's human nature. What I am learning--I think--I hope--and what I am trying to do, is forgive myself. Life is hard enough without emotionally beating myself over the head. And, what the heck. Maybe if I write it down, I will actually believe it. It certainly can't hurt.
I forgive myself
For assuming that it wouldn't happen to us.
For thinking I would be able to handle whatever came along.
For being angry that I didn't get what I wanted.
For wishing things were other than the way they were.
For thinking thoughts that should never be spoken.
For thinking life could or would be better, easier.
For forgetting to take care of myself.
For forgetting to take care of my marriage.
For forgetting to take care of my daughter.
For forgetting that we are not the only ones grieving.
For feeling too much, not enough, or nothing at all.
For forgetting that grief is different for everyone.
For being angry that life goes on. Without him. Without me.
For wanting to leave.
For wanting to give up.
For wanting to die.
For wanting everything to have meaning and purpose.
For looking outward instead of inward for solutions.
For forgetting to ask for help, both physical and spiritual.
For being weak.
For not being true to myself.
For being me.
For being human.
Because I cannot ask others to do what I cannot ask of myself.
Hold on. Tomorrow will come.
Hold on. There is more love, joy, and laughter yet to experience.
Hold on. There are memories to remember.
Hold on. There are sorrows others need to share.
Hold on. The sun will rise again.
Hold on. The Son will rise again.