I had a nightmare.
Anyone who has read here for a while will understand.
I dreamt I was walking along a concrete path, and everywhere I turned, I was met with one of those little yellow lawn pesticide signs.
The grass all around me was coated in a white, powdery film. I walked carefully and held my hands close to my body, not wanting to touch anything.
The chemicals were everywhere. I was a rat in a maze, turning and turning, looking for a safe way out.
Suddenly I came upon a large festival full of families walking through the grass like it was no big deal.
Young children rolled around and played in the lawn and I felt nauseated watching as the white powder took refuge on their bare skin.
"You have to get that off of them!" I screamed.
No response.
"Don't you know pesticides are linked to leukemia!"
Not even a look in my direction.
"Why aren't you listening? Your children could die!"
Nothing.
The families just went on smiling and celebrating.
Rolling around in the grass as white powder coated their bodies.
Picnicking as it stuck to the food that they brought to their mouths.
"Please listen." I begged.
But no one did.
They couldn't hear me.
They lived in a different world.
Naive.
Unaware.
Together.
I realized in that moment that I knew too much to ever be like them.
I realized that no matter which direction I traveled, I would always be alone.
**
I am really excited/humbled/honored/stoked/etc etc to learn that my little ole blog here has been nominated for Babble's Top 50 Mom Blogs. It would mean A LOT to me if you all would take a moment to vote for my blog by clicking here. If you sort by popularity I should be on about page 2. If you sort alphabetically I fall around page 13. You can vote for as many bloggers as you'd like. I did. Some of my favorites are also on the list :)
Showing posts with label Writing Through Grief. Show all posts
I had a nightmare.
Anyone who has read here for a while will understand.
I dreamt I was walking along a concrete path, and everywhere I turned, I was met with one of those little yellow lawn pesticide signs.
The grass all around me was coated in a white, powdery film. I walked carefully and held my hands close to my body, not wanting to touch anything.
The chemicals were everywhere. I was a rat in a maze, turning and turning, looking for a safe way out.
Suddenly I came upon a large festival full of families walking through the grass like it was no big deal.
Young children rolled around and played in the lawn and I felt nauseated watching as the white powder took refuge on their bare skin.
"You have to get that off of them!" I screamed.
No response.
"Don't you know pesticides are linked to leukemia!"
Not even a look in my direction.
"Why aren't you listening? Your children could die!"
Nothing.
The families just went on smiling and celebrating.
Rolling around in the grass as white powder coated their bodies.
Picnicking as it stuck to the food that they brought to their mouths.
"Please listen." I begged.
But no one did.
They couldn't hear me.
They lived in a different world.
Naive.
Unaware.
Together.
I realized in that moment that I knew too much to ever be like them.
I realized that no matter which direction I traveled, I would always be alone.
**
I am really excited/humbled/honored/stoked/etc etc to learn that my little ole blog here has been nominated for Babble's Top 50 Mom Blogs. It would mean A LOT to me if you all would take a moment to vote for my blog by clicking here. If you sort by popularity I should be on about page 2. If you sort alphabetically I fall around page 13. You can vote for as many bloggers as you'd like. I did. Some of my favorites are also on the list :)
"As long as I can I will look at this world for both of us. As long as I can I will laugh with the birds, I will sing with the flowers, I will pray to the stars, for both of us." ~Sascha
It's been just over a thousand days since Peyton left this world.
Just over a thousand days since I held her in my arms that last time as the sun broke through the clouds, and cast white light across her small body.
It's been just over a thousand days...
God I miss her.
I spent the better part of the first year without Peyton being furious.
At God mostly.
It hit me tonight, as I looked at my two beautiful blessings, that it may be time to start working on toning down that fury
It may be time to start feeling Thankful rather than Spiteful when I think of Him.
It may be time, but that is a post for another day.
In that first year after Peyton's death I saw very little hope in the future and no joy in the day to day. Even to think about feeling joy felt like some sort of betrayal, and yet when people tried to remind me that living was not a betrayal, I hated them for it.
People would see me spending all day every day at her grave that first year, and they would say, "Peyton wouldn't want to see you like this" and I would think, "what the hell do you know anyway? Was your child born unexpectedly with cancer? Did your child die in your arms? Do you live with the aching arms? And the nightmares? And the daytime ones?"
I was hurting.
Everything was darkness.
Telling me that I was disappointing Peyton in my grieving just added to my fury.
To my fury, and to my guilt.
In that first year people told me I would survive.
They were right.
I did.
Every second of every minute was agony, but somehow, some way, I came through it, even if only by the skin of my teeth.
The second year without Peyton I lived on Pause.
Every day was Groundhog's day.
The sun rose.
My child was dead.
The sun set.
My child was dead.
Families around us grew.
My child was dead.
Children conceived after Peyton died had now outlived her, and yet, my child was still dead.
It is still hard for me to believe, sometimes, that I no longer live in that long gray fog that consumed the second year. At that time the world around me seemed to be moving at lightning speed, while our world, our tiny little corner of the universe, sat immobile - seemingly stuck on its axis unable to turn towards the sun.
And then, just like that, one day it did.
One day there was forward momentum, a feeling that had become so foreign a concept to me that I didn't know what to do with it.
In that moment we were afforded a new lease on life, and the blessing that this is has not been lost on me.
Peyton's third birthday is just a few mere months away, and I feel something shifting in me once again. For the first time, in a very long time, maybe ever, I find myself thinking of Peyton and smiling.
Not all the time of course, many memories of her still stir feelings of being robbed, scared, and heartbroken, but every once in a while an image of that little girl - so tiny, so brave - pops into my mind and I can see her lifting her sweet, perfectly round little head up off of my chest when we did skin to skin, and the corners of my lips turn upward in gratitude.
Yes, you read that right. Gratitude.
Peyton did something no one else in this world can ever undo.
She made me a mother, and through the aching, I can't help but to feel grateful for that.
She came into this broken world, loved me with a pure heart, and left so many gifts for me that I am still discovering them day by day.
Some have been easy to see - the friendships I have made within the BLM community. The connection I have been able to feel with my writing. The deep sense of empathy I feel for those who are hurting - and others have taken more time to fully grasp - like realizing how important it is to truly appreciate each and every day.
Even the tough days, because a tough day is just another chance to overcome something difficult, and discover something beautiful in its wake.
That little girl has enriched my world.
She has made colors crisper.
Experiences richer.
Meanings deeper.
Because of Peyton I appreciate what a gift it is to wake up each morning.
Because of Peyton I can feel the wind on my cheek and know that somewhere, somehow, in some way that I am too human to understand, we are sharing that moment.
Because of Peyton I truly, TRULY, know how lucky I am to be a mother.
I know what a gift it is to be exhausted from a sleepless night with the babies.
I know not to take for granted any moments with my children, even the challenging ones like those that I have faced in breastfeeding the twins.
That's not to say I don't ever moan or groan or feel sorry for myself about this or that, because I do, I am human, but usually, a beat or two behind whatever gripe I may be airing, I stop, think of that little girl and all that she has taught me, and that quickly puts things back into perspective.
Maybe everyone goes through this?
Maybe this, this feeling that I owe it to Peyton to live the life she wasn't afforded, is just another stage of grieving.
I don't know.
What I do know is that she can't laugh, so I feel that I owe it to her to fill my life with laughter
She can't have a family of her own, so I owe it to her to love mine with all of my heart.
She can't chase her dreams, so I owe it to her to never stop believing in mine.
As the poet Sascha says, I owe it to Peyton to do all these things "for the both of us."
I miss my daughter.
Nothing will ever, nothing can ever, change that.
I still have days where the tears come calling, but something inside of me is shifting.
I am coming to see that honoring Peyton is not equivalent to spending all of my life longing only for what I can never have.
I am coming to see that it honors her memory more to embrace and rejoice in all that I do.
