Change

There’s been so much change in this house the last month that I’m surprised my head hasn’t exploded. I do everything I can to accept change and ride the wave it usually brings with it. But often, change is extremely hard for me. It always has been. It makes me shut down a little, retract. Retreat to a safer place inside my own head until I know which way is up again. But this time, I’ve made a conscious effort not to do that. I’ve woken up every day and willed myself to accept the change and ride the wave and at the same time remain as, if not more, engaged with everyone and everything around me. And the crazy thing is that it’s been much easier than I had anticipated.

Although today, I’ve had to stop several times and just breathe. Remind myself that this is massive amounts of change, yes, but it’s also really exciting change and to be present in every moment and really live it, I need to open myself to it. I think today was different because up until now, the change has been theory. I know we’re moving at the end of the month. I know we’ll pack our entire house and move to a new house. I know the kids will be in new schools. I know I’ll have to go through the process of making new friends. I know all of this is coming, and quickly, but I hadn’t really had to do much of it yet. But today, I started on my memorial tattoo for Laurel and the girls. There is now the beginning of a huge, colorful masterpiece of a hummingbird and flowers on my arm that will be there for the rest of my life to remind me of these amazing people and also to remind me that I lost them.

And that is huge. It’s the first real tangible thing (other than us taking Hannah and Zoe’s bunk beds, hand-me-down clothes and toys) that I’ve embraced that makes their absence real. And permanent. The tattoo artist I chose knows Alex and the whole family and we sat there talking about Laurel and the girls and Alex and even then, it was still tinged with the surreal. But then I got home and looked at my arm and saw this amazing artwork, knew in my heart how much Laurel would love the Columbine and hummingbird I chose for her and how much the orange Cherry Blossoms would have made sweet Zoe smile. I know that Hannah would have blushed and gone quiet at the sight of the bright pink Hydrangea and little Lucy would have poked incessantly at the lotus blossom. And suddenly, it all sank in a little deeper that they are gone forever.

I suppose this shift is appropriate with tomorrow being the 3 month anniversary of their deaths. But it’s a point I never thought I’d reach even a month ago. There are definitely still moments when I miss them so much I cannot breathe. And I’m sure there always will be. But today, I got a glimpse of how it feels to miss them completely, but be able to smile through it. To have the whole they left in my life feel utterly tangible, but not quite as raw. To know, that continuing to love them does not mean I will always be in pain.