Today I went on a solo shopping/browsing expedition to a couple of my favorite stores looking for crafty ideas, fun back-to-school finds, and some essentials I’d run out of. It was nice not being in a hurry, and I was happy to putz around and just look at things.
Of course, these types of excursions can be emotionally risky for me.
A few tears spilled out at Hobby Lobby when I stumbled upon a couple of the same decorations I’d bought for Lucy’s nursery last summer. I averted my eyes from the cute baby girl in the checkout lane. I speed-walked past the baby department at Target. My pulse quickened when I saw a mama blow raspberry kisses on her sweet toddler’s cheek. I pretended that none of those things truly caused me any pain. All of that is normal for me now, and it is what it is. I have come to accept the emotional risks of going out in public, and usually I can handle them well.
Sometimes though, something catches me off guard, and suddenly, I can’t handle it well.
I navigated down the greeting card aisle to search for the perfect birthday card for Chris, since his birthday is coming up. I fought the little waves of sadness that washed over me when I realized that many of the ‘Husband’ birthday cards mentioned family or being a great father. I brushed them aside and was determined to find the right one. With a sigh of relief, I’d finally selected the right card for my darling wonderful husband. I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed right away, but somehow I’d missed the trigger. I looked just to my right and felt my breath draw in sharply as I beheld the kids’ birthday cards and the innocent “Cute little ONE” birthday card, just waiting to be picked up for a sweet cake-covered ONE YEAR OLD. A one year old that isn’t my Lucy.
Right there, staring me in the face, is the reminder of the day I’ve been in denial of…
Oh, my heart. My poor tired heart.
The lump clicked into place in my throat and my lower lip started to quiver. Right there in the aisle at Target, the tears of grief demanded to be let loose, and I obliged. I think I’ve been in a state of denial about Lucy’s birthday, but I felt the reality of it come crashing down in that moment. And you know what? I felt sorry for myself. I felt sorry for Chris, for Lucy, and for myself. Not because I was crying in public, but because I couldn’t pick out my first birthday card for my daughter. Because I won’t ever get to give her one, or celebrate her milestones with her. Because I’ve lived the last year in the grip of grief, depression, and with an ache that won’t subside. Because sorrow is what I feel when I wake up, fall asleep, and every moment in between. Nothing can change any of that. Nothing can bring our baby daughter back.
In spite of doing well, of healing, of moving forward and trying to live again, the pain still takes my breath away.
It still paralyzes me. I still find myself submerged and sputtering in the inevitable crashing waves of grief, no matter how well I’ve been treading the waters of it. This is my life now, and it always will be. It’s not fair.
How I wish with all of my heart that my little girl were here with me, where she belongs.