After Heath died, so many said give it time, that it would get better, easier. It literally took the little bit of energy I had not to punch them in the throat. I mean, really? How do you know? Have you ever done this? No? Then zip it.
But as time has passed, it actually has.
Now, take into account that it could be the meds, haha. I have been on antidepressants after each of my 4 deliveries. It wasn’t really that I was depressed (after the previous ones), mainly that I was just a bit…. difficult. If I asked my dear sweet husband to take out the trash, then take out the freaking trash. Now. Not in 3 hours when I’ve had to push down the trash down into the can 3 times because it just continues to spill over. Not when it’s convenient for your napping schedule. Now. Let me just say, he has always been amazing dealing with my particular brand of crazy. Most of the issues were in my head.
Anyway, back on track. Life has continued on. Which is actually amazing because when his heart stopped, I literally thought mine would too. But it kept on beating, even if it was broken into a bazillion pieces. We came home from the hospital and it kept on beating. We planned a visitation and funeral and it kept on beating.
Eventually the sun did come out again, albeit not as bright. It wasn’t the first thing that Avery, who is a very sassy 4 year old, asked about when she woke up every morning. It wasn’t the first thing that people asked about when I ran into them in Target. He is still on my mind every second of the day. He is still here in these rooms where we planned to bring him home. But I’m trying to find the joy in the things that are still here. Doing puzzles with Avery, talking about video games with Noah. I’m trying to find happiness in slow dancing with Jimmy in the living room on one of our at-home date nights (even though we’re both horrible dancers).
I’m still trying to find balance in my mind. I don’t know if I will ever actually find it. Some days it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that he is actually gone. That all I have are a handful of pictures, hand and foot molds and a tiny bit of his hair. But I’m trying to continue to find the joy. The comfort in the time we had. Trying to find whoever the new me is now. I’m discovering that this new me is tired, complicated and sarcastic– ok, I was sarcastic before. And honestly, bitter. But I’m actively trying not to let that be the largest part of me.
It’s hard. But it’s getting better.