Overflow

My oldest son, Elijah, is 7 years old (well, he’ll be 8 in about 10 days). He is an extraordinary kid. He’s also one of the most sensitive kids I’ve ever known, he always has been. So when I think about everything he’s been through over the last two years, I just shake my head that he’s still functioning as well as he is. Of course, it hasn’t been easy. He’s in two different kinds of therapy and school has been a tremendous challenge for him. But he’s doing it. He wakes up every single day and goes to school and tries his hardest. He’s amazing.

But he hasn’t been talking much, to anyone, since his Papa died and definitely not since Hannah died. That’s one of the reasons why we’ve bumped up his therapy the last month. We’ve always told him that it’s ok if he doesn’t want to talk to us, as long as he talks to someone. So he’s trying to figure out who he wants to talk to. He’s been talking a little to his therapist, a little to me, a little to the guidance counselor at school, a little to his Nana. And we’ve been thrilled with that progress.

Tonight, however, the levy broke. And out flooded two years of suppressed tears and sadness all of a sudden. One minute he was in bed and the next he was in my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. The only thing he could get out was “I want Papa.” And all I could say was “Me too.” So we sat and cried together for a bit and then, at his request, I called my Mom so he could talk to her as well. And he and Geoff talked about going fishing sometime soon. And about 30 minutes later he was calm, exhausted and ready for sleep.

And as I was walking him down to his room to tuck him in, “Be Ok” by Ingrid Michaelson came on Pandora and I just about lost it. Because for me, that song encapsulates Laurel.

So during a time when I’ve been doing my level best to tuck all of this grief under the rug for just a few days because I just desperately need a break from it all, it all came rushing back in a moment and just about brought me to my knees.

I keep hoping that one of these days that grief will shift in some way. Lessen, focus, dissolve even just a little. And it’s not. The deep grief is still there, sloshing around and coating everything it touches. I just cannot get away from it, no matter what I do.

Of course I can’t. I know that I can’t. But I am so uncomfortable that I was looking, hoping, for just about any way out. Unfortunately, the only out, is through. So I have to go back to softening. Back to just breathing and being. Back to trusting that someday this will shift. That the pain will decrease to the point where there is once again only joy in the memory and acknowledgment of these people whom I love so dearly and lost.