This is the first year we didn’t go to their graves for Easter, and I pretty much feel like shit about it still. It feels like we are missing more and more Holidays at the graves. I know they aren’t there, just their vessels, but still….. I feel connected to them there… at their final resting place.
I feel like more and more often, ‘life’ is getting in the way of being there with them. That sucks. They don’t have a ‘life’ to get in the way. They don’t get to busy or forget. They are dead. Dead.
It still feels funny to say it. Dead. My daughters are dead. It’s been over 3 years and it still feels awkward to say. My first 2 children are dead. Not alive. Buried at Springvale. Dead.
I don’t think it will ever feel ‘right’ to say it, don’t get me wrong. I just thought by now maybe it wouldn’t feel so foreign to say.
Grief is so… weird. Some days I can talk up a storm about them. Other days I feel like my heart is made of glass and every time I think about them, every time the blood pumps through my veins, with the very next beat of my heart without them, it will shatter into a million tiny reflective pieces. All reflecting the same glistening scenes….their deaths. Memories projected on to each shiny, sharp, surface. When I try to pick the pieces up, they slice my hands and my blood muddies up to picture.
Other days, I’m fine. Not the “I’m Fine,” that we lie and tell those around us who wouldn’t understand, but the real one. The one where I have found a way to continue to live and be happy.
I know, as time goes on here without them, I will to. I won’t get over it, or more on. Time just goes on. Whether we want it to or not….