A blog entry from December 26, 2008 and more fitted to here.
It's 11:15 pm the day after Christmas, the boys will be up around 5:30 and I'm exhausted. The boys are all exhausted (all 3 of them!) and snoring soundly. I should sleep. I can't. I spent Christmas, like everyday, with an insane range of emotions. When I look at Boston and Callum, I could just burst; they give me such love, such pride, such peace. I cannot believe I've been so lucky. I am so very, very blessed to have my husband; so warm, caring and true. I don't know how I've been so lucky. Then, there is an aching, throbbing hole in our family. Keely should be here too. We talk about her, miss her, love her daily. She's in our every thought, all of our sweet babies are. Our boys know her, miss her, love her. I wish they could grow up with her. I'm not an unhappy person by any means. I don't want it to sound like I don't appreciate my blessings because I do. They make my heart swell. They are sleeping right here; one in my arms and one at my side. I could sit here all night just listening to their breath. I will and I am so thankful for it; both that it's there and that I'm here to hear it. If I don't hear it for a split second, I'll have to nuzzle them to make sure they're okay.
There is a family not that far away tonight that won't be hearing the reassuring breaths of their son (I had a photoshoot for NILMDTS whom I'm a photographer with). There are little boys sleeping tonight whose mother can't be there to listen (I checked the lemmondrops blog). I am just heartsick for these families, facing their darkest hours right now. I've been in the position of facing the first night of your child in Heaven and you here, without a clue of what to do. Mundane things seem so silly, so pointless. That's how I feel tonight. Why should I get to sit here and watch a movie or sleep? I remember the first night after Keely died. Sam made mac n chreese and while Boston ate, we sat in silence. Those plates sat there, untouched, until my mom did our dishes the next day. Sam and I sat up all night watching videos on Mtv. That was the first time I saw Rob Thomas' "Little Wonders". Boston slept in both of our laps and I felt every twitch in my body, hoping to feel her move, hoping they'd made a mistake. Someone is sitting up right now, unable to sleep, left with only memories, hoping there was a mistake.
I started the Kelly Corrigan book yesterday. This is what I get for reading- ha!
I'm terrified of facing that night again, that first night and I'm terrified of someone facing that night with only memories left of me. I find such comfort in my faith, in the Bible. It isn't death that frightens me. I'm trying desperately to live a good life. Nights like tonight, I want to hug everybody I've ever wronged, just to be sure. I'm not scared of death but I'm in no hurry. I have children on both sides and the ones here need me more. Young, vibrant, full lives gone with little or no warning. I miss that "it won't happen to me" ignorant bliss. I never said it but I'm sure I thought it subconsciously at least. I can never feel a part of that category now. It's not that I'm sitting around waiting for bad things to happen. But nights like tonight, it catches up to me. I have to have a good cry or purge my rambling, probably incoherent rants on unsuspecting friends. Or both.