Talk about bouncing around the stages of grief… Lately, I feel like one of those super bouncy balls. I’ve been through every stage of grief this past month and sometimes I’ve been through every stage in a matter of minutes ala M’Linn in Steel Magnolias at the cemetery.
This morning I wanted to cuss the charging cord in my car, the super thick sliced bacon, the humidity, and anything else that didn’t sit right with me this morning… and believe me, there is a long list today.
I want somebody to fix it. But, it can’t be fixed. It’s mine to deal with. Oh God is supposed to be there, all that never forsake you and so on but I can’t seem to find God for myself. He seems just out of reach for me. If he did show up would I even recognize that it was God? I don’t know what do about God so I mostly stew and stay mad. I’m still mad that my prayers went unanswered. I still want to know WHY? What purpose is this serving? Where’s the good in it all? I’m trying to put the puzzle back together but someone took some of the pieces and they won’t give them back!
What I want most in this world, I can’t have. There is no fix. I want to spend the day with Patrick. I want to hug him forever and talk to him. I want to make him some soups (yes, he called it soups π). I want to spend time looking at every box of lego and telling him he doesn’t have enough money to buy the set he wants, only to give in and buy it for him. I want to take him to the park and hear him get upset when it’s time to leave. I want to hear him humming and singing, running through the house, jumping on the couch and pulling all the cushions off. I want to hear him beg for just 5 more minutes before bed or ask for 1 more chapter to be read. I want to hear him talk about his day. I want to hear him call, ‘Mommy air hug I love you!’ from his room. I want to tell him how much I love him and how proud I am of him.
September has been an incredibly hard month. Yesterday was 18 months since I held, talked to, played with Patrick. 547 days. 21 hours. 59 minutes. 59 seconds.