I woke up this morning to the sunlight filtering through the white sheet that was pulled over my head. Even without opening my eyes, it was the brightest and warmest vision. I just lay there, perfectly comfortable, nestled into one of the most heavenly of creations, a memory foam mattress. My head was resting on my down pillow, and I could feel the gentle weight of my down comforter all around me. As I opened my eyes it was an ethereal vision of illuminated whiteness, a freshly pressed (yes, I iron my sheets) 1,000 thread count cocoon of comfort. I didn't want to move. I didn't need to move. So I just lay there. For a long time.
It was a very peaceful thing. As I lay there, I began my usual stream of random thoughts. I thought of something and it reminded me of something else, which reminded me of someone, and that reminded me of a letter that someone had sent to me last week. This letter was from an old friend that I had lost touch with. Lisa has a son named Connor. Connor was just a little younger than Roman. In her letter she was giving me updates on their family, and the accomplishments of little Conner. I lost it. There in my little cocoon, I lost it. My eyes overflowed. Crack. I could almost hear it. My heart. The spackle that once covered the now obvious break crumbled and fell away. Revealed now was a break that has been there for almost 5 years, just as big and wide and deep and devastating as the first day. Time has slowly filled in that crack, little by little, giving me the false impression of healing. And now today, I lay in on a soaked pillow in my little illuminated haven. Now, I don't want to move, I don't need to move, and I don't even think I can move. All of these familliar emotions have found me once again. Have brought me to my knees. Have broken me. I feel broken. And frustrated. This is just a confirmation that my heart will never heal, just be patched by the spackle of time. Vulnerable to the next unsuspecting thought.
Now that the crack has been re-revealed, I notice it more. I focus on it. I see it, I feel it. It is hard to get out of my mind. Hard to overlook. Impossible to ignore. It distracts me. 'What if....', 'Remember when....', 'How would it be......'.
I hate this part. I am sad. I don't feel well. I don't care. I want to stay in bed forever, and watch the sunlit glow through the sheets fade into dark. To toss around in the safety and comfort of my little fort. And experience tomorrow through that same filter.
It is a crazy thing. Every single year, for the past 5 years, I FEEL it. Towards the end of February to the middle of March, I feel it. It is like my soul kicks my bodys ass. I am a wreck. Heartbroken, again. I know it's coming. I know it's gonna hurt. It always surprises me how much it hurts. How the pain doesn't dull. It is just as sharp as it has ever been. With each additional year, it stings a little more. The realization that it has been even longer. and that is all it will ever be, longer. and longer. and longer.
For a while I wished I could deal with this better, get over it. I have come to the conclusion that I will NEVER get over it. As I lay there this morning, I thought that if losing my son did not affect me as much as it does, then having him must not have meant as much as it did.
