An Uncharted Journey
11:11 AM
The past 3 days I've been in Hell. That's what it feels like anyway. It's not hot like I imagined, instead it's cold. It's actually substantially worse than I pictured. It's empty and dark and lifeless. It's filled with the most utter sadness and gut wrenching pain. No words can begin to come close to describing it. I didn't mean to put myself in this place; trust me no one would ever intentionally put themselves here, but I did. I've been sobbing uncontrollably since Sunday and after I read a Facebook post from a mom who too, lost a her daughter in a drowning accident, I realized that this is what losing a child is, it is as close to Hell as we as parents will ever be. Her words, but it is such an accurate description.
On Sunday, we had an entire day with no plans other than dinner with my family. I thought, I'm going to make this day productive and get organized. I've been living in chaos since Aspen's accident. I rarely make it down to our basement because the memories are too much for me. People who know me well, know that I am a little OCD when it comes to having things in their proper place. I have more label machines and storage containers than the Container Store can keep in stock. Jenner has been having friends over and I just knew the basement was probably a disaster area. So I made it my mission to organize the playroom and give some of Aspen's toys to his cousins and a few close friends who have toddlers. What a huge mistake that was. It is a prime example of how grief can run you down like a Mack truck. As I sat on the floor going through each bin, I'd come across Aspen's very favorite things he used to love to play with and just start sobbing in disbelief. Disbelief that he's really gone. I know it sounds dumb, it's been 4 months since he died, but as a mom, I just don't know how you ever really wrap your heart or your head around the fact that your baby is gone.
Shopkins were some of Aspen's favorite things to play with, to his father's dismay. You know those miniature grocery store items; the choking hazards that are not meant for a toddler. I vividly remember the day at Scheels we went to buy a trampoline. It was 3 weeks before his accident. We had been at our friend's home over the weekend and the boys spent the entire night jumping on their trampoline. They LOVED it! The next day, I told Clint, I wanted to get a trampoline for the boys. So off to Scheels we went. Little did I know how expensive trampolines were, but it was too late as we had already told the boys were getting one. After we made the trampoline purchase, Aspen immediately gravitated to the Shopkins aisle. What a weird thing for Scheels to carry, but they do kind of have everything. I explained to Aspen that we were there to buy a trampoline and Shopkins would have to stay in the store. Somehow that little stinker talked me into getting those Shopkins. That was Aspen. He knew what he wanted and wouldn't stop until he got it. I being THAT mom, would give in more than I'd like to admit. Which now I look back and do not regret for a single second. I spent the rest of Sunday and all day yesterday sobbing. It's day 3 of this roller coaster of emotion and I am working on trying to get everything ready for the launch of the Stuff the Turkey for Aspen's Angels stuffed animal drive. Guess what that entails? Looking for pictures of Aspen to include in our TV commercial and promotional material. Just constant waves of sadness come over me as I sit here and try to be productive and make this an awesome event in my angel's honor.
I decided mid-morning, after sheer exhaustion from crying, that I needed yet another paradigm shift. I can't let Hell win. Aspen would be so very disappointed in his mommy if I did. The problem is, I struggle to find a balance of experiencing the grief and trying to ignore it. Experiencing it is just so painful. Looking through pictures and videos - it's just too much for me. Apparently organizing toys is also too much for me. How do I attempt to live a somewhat normal life, when I don't know what is going to take me down? Is normal for me to feel like I'm literally living in Hell for now? Shouldn't my days be getting easier instead of more difficult? Am I doing this all wrong? It's like I'm trying to navigate an uncharted journey without a clue on what first step to take. And I know, I know, there is no roadmap for grief, but oh how I wish, I at least had a compass.
0 comments