My life these days is a lot like the movie groundhog day. Get up at some point, confront the reality Perry is not here, and struggle to find some sort of new meaning in my life. I still have painful reminders, YMCA workers ask where 'the baby' is, the ground continues to settle around his grave. The autopsy results are still out there somewhere, you want answers but fear them. I want to call his pediatrician who promised he would share results, but am afraid there is a reason he has not called beyond the awkwardness.
At times the pain is so new it feels like yesterday, sometimes I cry because it feels like decades since I held him. I no longer find new socks, dust gathers on his toys. I find myself stroking his pictures or kissing photos because I miss the touch of him so much it makes me physically ache.
There is no easy road to this. I feel like the expectation is that I should be normal by now or at least faking it well. This makes it harder to feel that I am not alone. I am starting not to write because it all sort of begins to sound the same.
I talk about putting flowers on his grave for Easter and it is a very poor substitute for what should be, but it is what I have. We have already put away Christmas trees and hearts on sticks from his 'hideout', a surreal experience, but this is how my family measures time now.
I have no desire to participate when the church members are giving up things to refocus. I have given up my son this year, everything else seems sort of stupid. Fasting, giving up facebook, or chocolate will not cause any great changes in my life. If anything the giving up part would be meaningless and perhaps too easy, a step backwards... it is the doing that is hard.
I feel stuck. My feet in mire. Pills will not bring my son back, but neither will this frozen life. I am in limbo, a purgatory only those who have lost children understand.
I need a goal, something to look forward to... the planning of the vacation sometimes helps, but it will be over too soon.
Perhaps my challege for change is a doing not an abstaining. A race, an instrument, taking up dancing again? I struggle with defining it.