It's been nearly a week since Momma's last letter. While I talk to you every day, it's been nearly impossible to put words, thoughts, emotions into written form. I've said it before, and I'll say it again - Year Two is hard. Confusing.
What most people refer to as "triggers" - sounds, smells, moments that bring raw grief rushing to the surface - I refer to as emotional icebergs. Why? Because the trigger itself lasts just a minute or an hour. Maybe a day. But looming beneath the surface there is so much more. And no way to tell how deep it is until it's too late. Your birthday was an iceberg I saw coming, and I tried my best to steer into it, to anticipate and prepare for it. And I did. Yet, here we are almost three weeks later and my heart is still crippled.
And now, a new iceberg. The Pickle starts daycare next week. At your school. In the same building and classroom that you loved so very much. Once again we will have artwork, classroom parties and daily report cards. And all the colds, runny noses and fevers that come with the petri dish that is a daycare classroom.
Your brother has only dealt with one very low-grade fever after a round of vaccinations. But the first time he gets a real fever, and we have to put him down for a nap or bedtime, I'm not sure how I'll stay sane. Maybe I won't. I'm sure I won't sleep.
For now, I will do my best to prepare for next week. To look for the joy in the situation. To remember how much going to school delighted you. And know it will be a terrific, fun experience for your little brother.
I love you, my sweet Peanut. How much? To the moon - and back!
- Momma
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| Peanut eating peanut butter toast during a sick day from school. |
I know that will be so difficult, and you no longer have the luxury of dismissing your fears as irrational. As my friend says who lost a baby at birth - most people have the luxury of living in a world where babies don't die. And then when she was pregnant with another she couldn't even acknowledge the fact that a baby could live. That's a very stressful way to live, and I feel that. No parent wants to be that overprotective, obsessive mom or dad that calls the pediatrician for every last sniffle. I will be thinking of you, and the balancing act in your mind as you navigate this next step. Peanut's voice is a special one for me now - just as Kaden's and Mason's and Eliza's are. Not in the grim "don't take things for granted way", but in the way they remind me to appreciate each day I have with my girls.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your continued writing here. You've helped me in so many ways with my relationships with grieving mothers / friends.