Reese was born two months today at 6:37 P.M. Everyday since, Ross and I have sang happy birthday to him. I have an alarm set to go off. It doesn't matter what we are doing, we will stop and sing. It is the one tradition we get to keep with our son, and I never want it to stop. This week though, we had to adapt and for the first time since February 12th, we couldn't sing it together. Ross was driving home from Augusta on Monday and didn't make it home in time; we adapted and sang on the phone. On Friday, I was at a bar getting drinks before a concert with a friend when I realized it was almost time. I facetimed Ross in a private area at the bar and we sang. We adapted and it was fine.....we were fine.
Not missing 6:37 P.M. is important to us. It's another way we can keep our son's memory alive. I didn't want to think about how I would feel if I missed it one day. I imagined I'd feel awful, that I'd cry my eyes out and that the rest of my day would be ruined. In fact, I was so sure that this was what would happen, that I think that's what drove me to do everything in my power to make sure I didn't miss it. Until last Saturday.
I was exhausted. Work had been crazy all week. Gracie had been her normal puppy self and was doing whatever she could to make sure we didn't get a full nights sleep. I had been cleaning around the house and I just needed a break from everything. I laid down in bed at 5:45 for a nap, absolutely positive that my alarm would wake me up at 6:37. Except it didn't. Ross did, but by then it was 6:38. We had missed 6:37. I felt awful for about 20 seconds and then I went on with my day....eh..nap. The world did not collapse. My son's spirit and memory didn't suddenly disappear from our hearts and minds.
I had my first breakdown in what seemed like forever that same Saturday. I didn't even realize that I had gone more than a week without bursting into tears. After I was done crying, I thought about that and I thought about how I had actually felt...dare I say...like my old self the whole week before. Almost my old self that is. I'll never feel like who I was before February 12th again, but it was the closest I had since. Realizing that gave me a little tinge of optimism that I hadn't felt in a very long time. It felt pretty good.
I've also noticed that I'm able to talk about the events of his birthday more freely now.....without stopping to gather my thoughts or without crying. I did so on Friday, when I was with a friend I hadn't seen in months and today, when I went to visit my old coworkers at lunch. I've been able to think about him and talk about him in a manner that doesn't cause everything to turn dark around me. I find it almost healing to talk about him. Someone said I'm starting to sound happier and more present again and that they noticed I'm carrying myself like I used to. It felt good to hear that.
It's only been two months but I feel like we've made such progress. I worry for late summer/early fall though. We've been told to watch out for a grief regression of sorts that happens around the six month marker; where all the progress you feel like you've made almost washes away for some time. I think knowing that this is a possibility so far in advance is helpful and can help us prepare; we can make the effort to keep ourselves busy, to seek out additional assistance if we need it, and to surround ourselves with those we love.
It will be impossible not to feel some sadness everyday and to not think about the son that was suppose to be with us, enjoying every holiday and special occasion with us. It will be impossible to go through another pregnancy, without constantly thinking about the one before (and having to deal with all of the anxiety and stress that will come with it). I know it will be impossible to avoid days that are worse than others and it will be impossible to avoid places, people, or things that remind us of him. What will always be possible is at least having one minute a day where we smile when we think of Reese. Maybe that minute will come during a day where we are already in really good moods, and for that minute we just smile a little more. Maybe it'll come during a day where we need it most, because we can't get out of bed. For now, it's at 6:37 P.M because that was the time of day where we became a family of three. Eventually the minute will come at a different time everyday because we've accepted that it's ok to move forward with our lives. It won't mean that we love him any less or that his memory is fading away. It will mean that we are doing what he would have wanted, and living our life. Most importantly though, it'll mean we will have survived and gotten through the darkness together. We aren't quite there yet, but we're getting close. It feels good.
We will love him and think of him every minute for the rest of our lives. For one special minute each day though, we will love him and squeeze his spirit a little tighter, a little harder. And I'll continue to look forward to that minute everyday, whenever it may be.
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