It’s October 25th. It’s been three months since Lil’ Miss left us.
Funny the things that hit you.
One month didn’t bother me…..two months didn’t bother me.
Three months is hard.
Maybe because life moves on at three months; it moves on with an unnatural normalcy. People go to work. People interact with each other. People live.
People live…..and Samantha has been gone for 90 days.
When we lost Jack, we were told we could try for a another baby after 90 days. I ticked off every single day until we reached 90. Every single day got a check mark…..
and the days crawled by. It seemed unfair how slow one day moved to another.
But now, since I don’t have to count down to something else, these 90 days have passed by so fast….how quickly life can move on.
The other day I found a poem I wrote a couple years ago; right around the time of Samantha’s diagnosis and the passing of hubby’s dad. I have been hesitant to post it because it’s a bit dark.
But what the heck, sometimes I can be a bit dark. It reminds me that I was grieving a long time ago…..
I howl at the lonely moon
Raw and unleashed, my cries pierce my fragile skin, pierce the bandage on my wounded heart. Hopeless, helpless, I am consumed.
I must be contained, silenced.
I swallow. Stuff myself into the tight, black, polished pump. I smooth my black dress and paint a smile on my white face.
I mist at the chorus of ‘I’m sorry’. I do not meet concerned eyes. I nod and drift through the crowd.
Tonight, alone, I will remove my black heels and unleash my sorrow.
Now I can only pick at the lilies.
Today I sat in a meeting. I was a bit down about our three month mark and I looked at all the other faces at the table.
How many of us hide something? Stuff our pain into our black heels? Pick at the lilies?
Sometimes…those days when I howl at that lonely moon….sometimes those days are good. In a world that is so very contained, she taught me that I am not.