Whats it like? What’s it like to be you?
I see it. I think that is probably the number 1 question I see burning behind people’s eyes that is never asked.
Though it’s hinted to… in the escape of words like I can’t imagine. ..
So I’ll tell you..
It’s showing up to drop my son off late at school.. walking him into the cafeteria to get one last hug as he drops off his lunch box. Something is going on.. lots of kids and fun. Its seeing a mom who asks if I am ready for the craziness.. It’s asking what and hearing that its the 3rd grade arcade day. Its the wonder for just a moment.. until you can feel the ground move beneath you.. She should be in there.. And the gym that was moments ago just 15 feet away somehow becomes miles away.. at the end of a impossibly long tunnel. .. one that you know if you don’t run from will close in around you.
It’s struggling for weeks.. trying to figure out what to make your husband for fathers day.. Something that includes all our kids.. Without being too sad. Its calling on a friend to help you create something.. because I am too scared I will break apart and ruin the moment for my surviving children.
It’s most days not knowing or recognizing myself.
It’s a casual conversation .. Being complemented on my parenting and making jokes.. It’s being reminded that I haven’t killed one yet.. It’s trying to keep the conversation going and worrying about the person who said it.. If it’s hit them yet who they said that to.. And it’s worrying that if they have.. that they know it didn’t hurt.. It’s statements like that making me wistful for the old Libby. .. the one who used to say the same damn thing.
It’s jealousy. It’s bitter and it’s sharp.
It’s wanting to shake people to make them remember her.. Really remember her. And me. That so much has changed in these 3 years.. and also not a god damned thing. That I am so much stronger and fuller than I was.. but also .. That a piece of me.. A real, a true and important piece of me is holding her lifeless but still warm body. .. and wailing..
It’s visiting a friend at her home. It’s telling my kids where we are going.. That the girl was one of Jennifer’s friends.. It’s the simultaneous chorus of YES and NO. It’s trying to balance two boys with different yearnings. . and their own swirls of emotions.
It’s going there. Its seeing that girl across the island in the kitchen. Its watching her with my entire self. Its a moment that seems to last forever.. And a desire from my depths to just touch her. To feel the weight of a girl that age, the placement of her head against me.. The length in her limbs..
It’s a howling and insurmountable wondering.
It’s guilt for having not truly visited my grief in far too long. It’s wondering how long it will take me to recover.
It’s loneliness. It’s hating that loneliness. And it’s loving it. It’s needing it.
And it is guilt and regrets.
And then its the complete opposite of all those things too.
It is being able to physically feel my love for my children coursing through me.
It is a pure gratitude for every morning that I get to see my children. To touch them.. talk to them.. to know them still..
It is respect for the man that I married weathering the power of this storm we will always be in. It is a safety I never knew possible in his arms.
It is finding out I can actually make the gift for him.. One that included all of our children.
It is certainty and it is knowledge.
It is faith.
It is learning and accepting this new me more than I ever have been able to before.
It is truly looking forward to all the things that come next.
It is a drive to simply do good and be good.. Its failing at it but trying again.
Because it is love with such depth and clarity. Beyond words.
And its questions.. Its me wondering.. what’s it like to be you?
Those reading my blog. That meet me for the first time when I am looking for a babysitter.. or attending one of our events.
What’s it like for you? My friends.. the new ones.. That have come to me since she left me. Whats it like to not know such an important piece of me? What’s it like for you when I mention her?
What’s it like to question if you did say the wrong thing?
What’s it like to know I hurt so much and not be able to touch it?
What about you? Friends that knew her? Ones that have chosen to step out.. Whats it like when you see my posts?
What’s it like when I talk about her? When I insert her into conversations?
What’s it like to read my words.. and know you were standing in that kitchen with me?
whats it like sissy?
to be you.
…until there is a cure..