“I think you travel to search, and you come back home to find yourself there.” (Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie)
I shut my eyes in hopes of dreaming of you. Of finding you. Of you finding me.
I see you in my mind’s eye, and I speak your name on my heart. It rests on my tongue in a quiet sigh. No sound comes out. It’s stifled. Unreleased.
I wrap my arms around my shoulders, clenching myself tightly. I envision the weight of your small body against mine. Leaning into me. Pressing against me. Delicate arms wrapped tightly around me with your tiny jaw embedded into the nape of my neck.
In the bed. Holding you. Holding me. I need you to hold me.
I miss you so much.
You are gone, and I need you here. I returned to work this week. I returned home. I returned to where I once was...a place that is near you physically, which both heals and hurts.
I feel your presence more tangibly, which is good for my heart. But at the end of this first full week back at work, I wanted to run to your grave, and I couldn’t. I’ve had to leave your brother at the sitter this week, and it’s been so unbelievably difficult. I miss you both entirely.
Tears stifled within me all day yesterday, as the weight and the heaviness of change, transition, fears, insecurities, putting myself “out there,” and climbing mountains took a hold of my exhaustion.
I picked your brother up from the sitter to discover he had become sick. Control. I need it. Control. I don’t have it. I never will. I know that. Everything released.
I called your daddy, my voice barely getting out the words amidst broken sounds in my attempt to share the news about your brother, and I released a flood gate of sobs and tears. I held your brother close, and I remembered what it was like going back to work after losing you and coming home to an empty car seat. Empty baby bed. Empty swing. Empty arms. And how I cried incessantly.
My sorrow ran though me deep, as I mourned once more everything we lost with losing you. I wanted my arms to be filled with you. I just want you here. I will never understand why God didn’t let you stay with me. And my eyes fill with tears as I type this, because the longing is so deep. And so real. And so tangible. And so unending.
Your little brother softens the void. He brings us so much joy. He’s immensely happy, and he has brought some healing into our broken places. He’s also been so vocal lately, when he arises and before his slumber. I can’t help but feel as though he his talking to you. He loves your littlest big sister so much. He gazes into her eyes and squeals with joy. I think it’s because she looks the most like you. She misses you deeply and wishes you were here, too.
Change is hard, my love. Especially when change has happened because of your death. This journey is confusing. What is God up to? What is His master plan unfolding?
We are trying to make it...I’m tired of living in survival mode. I want to feel again, and I want to live again. Help us find meaning in the madness. Help us find purpose in the pain. You are the reason for it all. Your little life. Your profound existence. It has changed everything. I love you, my little one.
I will always look for you. Always try to find you. Forever and ever. Even when it hurts. Even when it’s hard. Even when I don’t understand. And I’m tired. And exhausted. And barely hanging on. You will keep me going. Keep me pushing forward. You will keep me searching. You will be my motivation to do hard things. To believe I can and am able. To get back up and continue climbing, continue reaching forward...taking one step. One moment. One hour. One day at a time, until it leads me back to you. Until I find you again and have you forever.