Every little things that was in his nursery was packed when we moved last year. We were in no way ready to thin things out, so I simply packed it. Every little things was placed in a box or bin by me. Help was offered, but at the time I was completely in momma bear mode and nobody (including my husband) could make me feel at ease and get me to accept help.
Fast forward a year. A mountain of boxes and bins sat ominously stacked in the corner of the basement. This may be the saddest way too memorialize our sweet boy. Almost 2 years since we said goodbye to CJ, a few medical hurdles and attempts, and still no "rainbow" baby. That stack doesn't just represent past loss, but broken dreams for the future.
3 nights ago I decided enough was enough. I can't explain why, but it was time to sort through, condense, donate, and repack. My first action was to donate the 3 cases of diapers collecting dust.
I found a young mom in my community struggling and pregnant. She showed up walking the 3 blocks with her small children and a stroller, refusing to allow me to drive the 3 large boxes over for her. We emptied the boxes and stacked as many packs as we could into the stroller, then bagged up the rest for them to carry. I watched them walk away and I felt one burden lifted from her shoulders. But my pain over letting go of a stack of diapers was shattering.
Night #2 tackling the stack was spent opening everything to see what I had. I could remember where every single item had been in the nursery. It was like ripping the stitches out of a wound before it was healed. The stack was left as an even bigger mess.
Night #3 I decided to finish what I started. Last night I touched every single item. Some hand me downs were pulled aside to be donated. Everything was sorted, cried over, and repacked. For the first time it not only felt like CJ's things, but that of any other baby we have not been blessed to conceive. It was a horribly painful reality.
My husband walked in exhausted from work just past midnight to find me finishing up and a mascara smeared mess. And that's when I realize it...
I screwed up.
He hugged me. That hug that only he can give me while holding me up as I crumble into his arms. He didn't let go when I started to resist and pull away. He just let me lose it.
Then he told me he never expected me to do it alone. He thought we would go through it all together. The look on his face told me he was disappointed. It never occurred to me that refolding onsies was just as important to him.
My head was pounding from all the crying. My exhausted husband didn't hesitate to run back out for a soda for me. Then we stayed up until after 2 watching watching meaningless reality tv and mindless chatter. When my headaches had eased off, we crawled into bed. His arms protectively around me as he spooned his traumatized wife.
Why do I insist on doing it all myself? I think I'm trying to protect everyone around me from experiencing the debilitating pain I attempt to function with every single day.
Every. single. day.
It's not working. They are already right there with me sorting through feelings none of us will ever be able to pack away. While most days are better, many are still spent attempting to internally sort and reposition the enormous emotions of losing a child. Every action is an attempt to lesson the pain. But in reality, it's just moving it around. And often, I screw it up.
Today I'm exhausted. It's like having an emotional hangover. So now that my little buddy is softly snoring on the couch next to me, I'm going to let go and join him. We can deal with life on a toddler's schedule today. No big life changing epiphanies today. Just a crap full of reality.
#doitforcj
#doitforcj
