I never knew that grief was so fluid.
That it would absorb my every fiber.
That one minute I would be shopping for toothbrushes at Target and the next I would be leaning against the wall, struggling to breathe deeply. That I would be absorbed in a dinner with the family and suddenly remember the warmth of her skin and find myself staring off into the traffic passing us by. That my arms, which have either caressed a swollen belly or held a needy little girl for three years, will feel empty by my side. And that when this grief begins to wash over me that I must brace myself for fear of falling with the weight of it and never getting back up...
Content to just lie prostate and weep.
Oh this grief hurts like I had never allowed my weary self to imagine. When Piper was first diagnosed I remember thinking that I would either spend the rest of my life worrying or the rest of my life grieving...
And here I am. Grieving.
I so wish I were worrying...I can fix worrying with the sweet smile of the best two year old out there. I could throw parenting rules into the wind and pull Piper into bed with me at midnight to smell her throughout my night. I could count her toes and kiss her fingertips. Her steady breathe could easily help me to focus...on the now.
Not grief. Grief numbs you. And when you spend the majority of your day staying as busy as possible, with this blessed numbness you are okay. But at some point another wave comes...and grief once again fills you to capacity and leaves you gasping for air or hope or some sort of lifeline. And once you feel as though you may never breathe deeply again you are drained into that numbness that allows you to walk. And eat. And shower. And smile. And be.
I wish I was worrying. I wish I was not simultaneously missing the child I raised and grieving the young lady I will never get to know. I wish grief was not an option but I know it is...it's a necessary step to relearning my life and to loving the husband who stands by his weeping wife and the seven year old who needs her mothers adoration.
I must learn to grieve properly so that I can live properly. I cannot allow myself to remain numb, however easy it may be, when it only keeps the waves from toppling me for a minute. When the minute is done being delayed I will once again feel my fingers tingle and my heart seize and my ears burn and every single fiber of my physical and mental and emotional self will go under the wave that grief brings. I've heard that time helps... I imagine that I will know this to be true or false on the days, months and years to come.
But right now...thirty two hours after last seeing the blue of Pipers eyes and feeling the squeeze of her hands, I simply grieve her loss. I simply miss being her mommy and I sob for it.