I hate waiting
The rest of my life I will be waiting to see you again
Life requires me to wait for many things; wait in line, wait for a storm to pass, wait for the mail to arrive, wait for a phone call
I am impatiently waiting for so many things, yet none so difficult as waiting to see you
You, the absence of you, have become the measure of my patience and pain tolerance
Whatever I am waiting for will come before I see you again
Whatever is painful cannot possibly hurt as much as losing you
My single greatest heartbreak is where my strength lies, it is what allows me to survive the unsurvivable
I have gained strength from the loss, but I would rather be weak with you still here
I keep hearing a commercial for a tv show that I am not familiar with. A man’s voice asks do you remember what we were like before Rosa died. I am trying to remember what I was like before Zachary died.
I was naive, clearly I thought things were okay and they were not. I was apparently not on top of the mothering game.
I was young when Zachary died; it has aged me rapidly and now I feel so old.
I wore makeup everyday, now it is reserved for weddings and funerals. I just don’t have the energy required to paint on a face and remove it daily.
I think I am kinder to myself and realize that self-care is important, not selfish.
I think I am less kind to others. I have less desire to expand my extremely small social circle. I have less empathy, less tolerance, less patience, less of everything maybe.
Beyond these things, I am unsure who I was before. It is hard to remember and I don’t believe we see ourselves as the rest of the world sees us anyway. So I suppose I would have to ask the people in my circle for insight into the changes that have most assuredly occured. Insight from others about who I was, and who I have become.
It hurts and I want a cigarette. I tell myself to hold on for 5 minutes. I watch through the vape clouds as the second hand on the kitchen clock goes slowly around . When I have survived 5 minutes, I tell myself I can do 5 more.
And this is survival of the anniversary of my son’s death on Christmas Day 5 years ago.
“I’ve heard the wealthiest places on earth are not the oil fields or diamond mines. The wealthiest places are cemeteries. . .
Buried in the ground are businesses that never formed, books never written, songs never sung nor heard, dreams that never came true…potential never released.”
Perhaps this is the saddest part of child loss; all the potential that dies with them.
In the sadness of today, I will survive 5 minutes at a time.