Contrast

I take a picture of our calendar at the end of every month, so I can remember what we did that month - and I can put it in our monthly newsletter. 

All it takes is a glance and you can see the difference between these two months. We had lots of things going on in March - Link's blessing on the 3rd,  lots of birthdays to celebrate, St. Patrick's day,  play dates, dentist appointments, Easter, spring break. Nowhere do I have "bury my son" on there. That was not in my plans. The fact that we blessed him & buried him in the same month just hurts my heart - such an absolute contrast of emotions. 

It doesn't look like we did anything in April. Honestly, I didn't even change the calendar to April until it was halfway done. It felt like we were leaving him behind - moving on without him. The only thing written in that month are 2 dentist appointments - and THOSE are only on there because they didn't get done in March - they were scheduled for the day Link died. What you can't see written in April are these words:

Get out of bed.  
Survive the day. Breathe in and out. 
Go to bed. 

Getting out of bed is hard, but going to bed is usually harder for me. The day is over. I am left with my sweetheart and a broken heart. That's usually when the tears find me.   Because... it's one more day closer to being with him again, but it's also one day farther from all the memories. I try to write them down whenever they come to me, but they are fading & I know there is so much I didn't capture. Everyone tells me I've taken a lot of pictures, but it's not enough for me. I will think back & wish I had taken a picture of this or a video of that. And just the everyday memories - I need to remember them. It hurts that so much fades away so quickly. 

As May approaches, I hope that I will be able to do more than just breathe & survive, though I know that will still be the majority of my day. 
I have moments - snippets of time - where I am here with my family. Where I come out of my grief coma for just a second and see things as they are and know they will be okay. Where I am with my daughter and I'm not just hearing the words she's speaking, but I'm listening. Where I am with the kids at the playground and I actually feel the wind on my face and the sun on my skin and I hear their laughter and truly smile. Where I look into my husband's beautiful green eyes and I am there - in the moment...
and then... the grief takes over again. 
It's such a paradox to me. Being in the moment - being there for my children and cherishing every moment is so difficult for me right now - the grief coma makes it so difficult to "wake up" and BE THERE - yet out of everyone, I should be the one to know the value of each moment - each breath of life. 
I'm working on it. 
I'm hoping May will bring more moments of clarity - and less time in my grief coma.