I've been clinging to anger like a life preserver. It hasn't been healthy, it hasn't done much more than get me this far and I guess for that I'm grateful. In a lot of ways I can see how it's hurt me, driven wedges in relationships, led me to unhealthy habits. But since I've been pregnant I've felt the walls of anger crumbling and it's been so scary. It one less layer to protect the raw fragility of my broken heart.
I don't want to let the walls down, I don't want to be more hurt. I still feel stuck. Under that layer of anger is the feeling of stuck, which is hard because it doesn't feel like anything and it feels like everything. I don't want to be stuck. I don't want to feel like tires spinning in the mud, because I don't know if I'm the tires or the mud.
In this time of forcing myself to learn to sink or swim I've pulled away from everyone, I've taken down facebook, I've stopped texting people, more often then not my phone is out of battery. I've tried to reach out but it's been to people who can't give me what I need. I need to learn how to stand on my own 2 feet, I need to learn how to be comfortable with my own pain, I need to figure out how to love me and forgive me. I will always feel like I could have changed things, because I'm his mom, I was entrusted with his body and soul and I failed. I feel so much guilt, guilt that I didn't love him enough to die with him, guilt that I couldn't be superhuman and rewind time and fix everything, guilt that God won't listen and give him back, guilt that I'm alive and he isn't, guilt for all the pain his brothers and dad endures.
I don't want to feel that guilt, I don't want to keep blaming myself for things entirely beyond my control. I want to spend more time remembering my perfect boy, than his horrific death. But every time I blink it's right there behind my eyelids etched into every cell. I hate it. I want to close my eyes and see him, beautiful, shining, smiling.
I don't know how to stop being controlled/overwhelmed/consumed by all the things wrong in our lives now. I feel like I have to keep pointing it out, and talking about it, to prove the pain caused by him dying. To prove that my pain is still valid and real. I so badly just want my friends and family to hold me and say your pain is valid, your pain is real, and to tell me I am not crazy and that it's ok that I am broken. They can't give me the only thing I need, but they could give me that.
One foot in front of the other, for Bram. For love.