Chili's

Yesterday I was reminded that, like it or not, I am on a rollercoaster ride.  On a ride that I don't necessarily control.  I just better buckle up.

Our neice came over yesterday evening to watch Gavin and Gabe for a few hours so my husband and I could go to a meeting together about a really great financial class that is offered through our church.  After the meeting we decided to stop into Chili's to grab an appetizer and have a little (uninterrupted) conversation.  It's been hard with two young boys, with their energy and their needs, to really sit down and talk with each other.

Our conversation flowed, we discussed the meeting that we had just been to and we talked about our future.  It was as though for a few brief moments, our grief wasn't the topic of conversation, it wasn't the huge elephant in the room.  We weren't talking about how sad, depressed, and lonely we felt.  We were simply enjoying each other's company, enjoying our conversation and then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, she entered the room...  A cute, young waitress.  My eyes wandered over to her.  I couldn't help but notice her little, growing belly. 

She's not the first pregnant woman that I have seen this past month and she most definitely won't be the last.  At first, I just silently smiled.  I smiled thinking about the precious little baby that she had in her belly.  I thought about the joy she must be feeling.  The excitement.  I tried to look away and continue our conversation, but it was almost as if time just stood still.  I couldn't take my eyes off of her belly.  As I thought about it more, I guessed that she was probably about 20 weeks into her pregnancy. 

And then, it hit me.  That should  be me!   I don't think I took another bite of food.  I had to fight with every fiber in my body to remain seated and not just get up and run out the door.  I wanted to run and hide.  The tears welled in my eyes.  That is what my belly should look like.  I should still be walking around filled with joy, with excitement.  My belly should be growing!

Instead my belly is empty.  My heart aches.

I tried to join back into the conversation with my husband, but I couldn't.  All I could think about was how differently our conversation would have been had our life not been turned upside down.  I thought about the future plans that we were talking about that they were most definitely entirely different than they would have looked if we hadn't just lost another son.

I so badly wanted to talk to the young, pregnant girl.  I wanted to make sure she knew how special, how lucky she was.  I wanted to tell her to not take a moment for granted.  I wanted her to know how beautiful she was and what a beautiful gift she had in her belly.  I just wanted to make sure she really knew all of these things.

Within a few minutes, we paid for our appetizers and left.  I may be grieving, but I'd like to think that I'm not crazy.  In my head, I said all of these things to this girl, but I'm not crazy enough to actually approach someone!

I breathed a sigh of relief as we walked back out into the fresh, fall-like air.  Partly because I had just removed myself from the first situation that triggered all of these emotions, but mostly, I breathed a sigh of relief because an innocent trip to Chili's made me realize that as numb as I am and I feel, I am beginning to feel.

This past month, I've questioned myself.  Questioned my numbness.  I've wondered how my grief can be so different this time around than it was when when we lost our first son Aiden.  Is it because I loved Aiden more?  Is it because I've already experienced this type of devastating loss?  Is it because my faith is stronger?  Is it because I am a mother with boys who need me?  Why can I not cry and scream out????

When we lost Aiden, I wasn afraid that my tears would never stop.  Lately, I have been afraid that my tears would never start. 

I know that as I grieve the loss of Jeremiah, all the hopes and dreams we had for him and for our family, I shouldn't compare it to the grief I felt when I lost Aiden, but it's hard not to.  It's hard not to expect the same feelings, in the same time frame.  It's hard not to rely of that previous experience to guide me in some way through this new experience.

But Jeremiah was Jeremiah.  He is not and was not Aiden.  I must accept the difficult truth, that I have two sons to mourn.

Years ago, my neice, who was probably about ten at the time, asked, "Can you love someone that you never got to see?"  I ask myself that same sort of question...  How can you love someone so much when you never really got a chance to know them? 

I think the simple answer is:  You're a mother.  That's how.  You just do.