For now.

  I'm at the beach tonight. The only one awake right now. Prob'ly because I took a 2 hr nap today and then had chocolate icecream at like 2 am. So yeah. Here I sit. I love the beach. It's seriously like being home. I love how the sound of the surf somehow quiets all the constant thoughts in my head. It's like constant white noise. It's crossed my mind more than once to drop everything, sell the house and move here about 10x since arriving yesterday. Dare to dream, right?

  Life has been tough lately. On many fronts. Yes, I've been doing all the "right things" that people tell me I should be doing. Writing, reading, going to counseling, getting out and having fun, working out, eating good (well, decent), crying, talking.... And people have told me I'm doing well. That I seem happy. I never really know how to take that comment. Thanks? I mean, I don't really know if that's a compliment or what. I feel like I'm just living.  Trying to accept each day for what it is, not pressure myself and just let the feelings and emotions flow as they may. I am glad I've gotten some professional help. "Grief Specialist" is his title. The main thing I've been told is that all "this" is normal. I'm not crazy. And, that I can be selfish. For once in my life, I know that I am not obligated to be anything or do anything for anyone else. I am surviving. Coping? Maybe occasionally on some days, but Surviving. Big. Difference.

  I read something tonight that really caught me. It said "We didn't just lose our brother, we lost the mother and father that we used to have. Everything is different now." It really struck a chord with me. Because what I think people tend to forget, is all that goes along with the loss of a child. The loss of a brother. I am not the same person that I was before. And neither is my husband. I mean, yes, we are a version of ourselves. Somedays seemingly more like the way we used to be, but we are still different.  I struggle with a lot of guilt on all fronts. People tell me, "But you did everything in your power to fight for him and save him, so you have the peace knowing that." I mean, yes, I do feel we did do that, but it doesn't bring me any less guilt. There are about a million what-if's that cross my mind and heart every day. The what-if's from my pregnancy, to after Gray was born, to his hospital stay, and right on into now....how me being different will affect my boys. All 3 of the ones I have left. I hope, and pray, that God will use it for good. And I know he can, but it doesn't make it any easier on a daily basis. I am constantly worn out, exhausted, emotional,  absent minded, preoccupied, and frazzled. I've always been a smidge ADD, but now, it's even worse. It takes all my brain power to homeschool the boys and keep people fed. Luckily they can dress and wipe themselves. *well, wiping is relative.*  I'm so thankful for that. Maybe my boys will learn to tie their shoes this year, perhaps? or I might just stick with velcro. Or Crocs. Yes, Crocs. I still have all the normal mom worries, all while dealing with all of this. This is not a "woe is me, wah wahhh wah" story. It's my reality.

  I so wish, sometimes, that I saw things like my 7, almost 8 year old son does. Everyone he meets he tells them a version of his story. He asks them, if they're an adult, how many kids they have? Then he asks them a few details about them. Then he talks about how he's going to be 8 in September, and his brother Miles is having a b'day in September too, and "I have another brother and his birthday is on the 14th of September, but he died in the hospital and he's in Heaven now." Sometimes he asks me how old he is...Is he 8 months? or 11 months? <Because, yes, I just keep counting his months....>It just flows off his tongue so easily. He usually then looks over at me for approval, to which I'm becoming better at giving him a genuine smile. The person he's talking to usually looks a bit taken aback, or a little surprised, but their answers are generally pretty awesome. "I bet he's being taken good care of." or, "You sure sound like a proud big brother." or something along those lines. I usually just get quiet and smile a little smile. What went from a normal conversation about our kids and school and what's on sale at Walgreens, just went to "Wow, that lady's kid died.".... ..So far, no questions have been asked, and I have never felt the need or urge to fill in the blanks. It's a very long and sad story, and even I don't know how to respond to it when I hear it leave my lips. It's sad. Depressing. Heartwrenching. And, it plays in my head over and over and over. Bits and pieces of it float in and out of my head at all times during each day. Good memories, and lots of bad ones. I mean, most of my son's life was lived in the ICU, hooked up to to chords, machines, monitors and meds. So, I just smile when my son tells others about his little brother. I encourage him to. I think he was scared to for awhile, and even now, I think he's scared even though I tell him he can. Because he knows the different version of me now. He knows the Mom who breaks down on a daily basis. "Are you crying about Gray again? Do you still miss him??" "Yes, I'm crying about Gray. Yes, honey, I'll always miss your little brother. " The new me.

  It's hard to juggle everything. Grief is exhausting. The grief specialist compared it to someone who's lost a limb, and how you hafta relearn how to live around the lost limb. That struck a chord too. I want my other 2 boys to be happy, fulfilled, to grow into young men who have compassion for others, for each other, and who love God with all their hearts. I don't want their entire lives to be wrapped up in how they were before and then how they are now. I don't want their brother's life and death to be a constant shadow lurking in their life. So it's a juggling act. It's part of our life. We are finding ways to include Gray but not be bigger than their life as well, because they are all equally important. It's hard.

  So people ask me how I am. Or maybe they don't ask, but they wonder. I don't ever really know how to answer that. I'm a very realistic person, and I like to tell things how they are, but I like to do it graciously. I guess the people I have the hardest time with, are those who truly don't try to understand how it might be. They think their feelings on the matter, or their grief, must somehow be exactly like mine. But, well, it's not. And that's okay. And, I think looking back, that I was one of those people. I used to think, "Man, if I lost a kid I'd do _________ or ____________ but I'd never do ________ or be like ___________." Let me tell you, even when I knew we were out of options, and we literally only had time on our hands with Gray, I was trying to figure out how I was ever gonna be okay. How would I handle this grief? This loss? How would I breathe and go on without my son. All the things I used to think about people losing someone in their life became a moot point. I mean, I lost my Grandma almost 7 yrs ago, and I was completely devastated. It changed my life. But, losing my grandmother in no way compares to the loss I've felt after losing Gray. Doesn't scratch the surface. I love them both immensely. It's just not the same.

  And, I also know that some people will never get it. Some can't deal with it. It's not a fun subject. They may get tired of me bringing "it" up. My grief, my loss, my son. Or, they might feel like I'm being selfish of don't care about their life anymore. I get it. It's not necessarily easy or fun to be friends with me right now. Heck, I don't even like to be around me some days. But, this is my reality. I am taking one day at a time. I'm dealing w/ my "missing limb", which is my broken heart. I'm also trying to fit the "being a good friend" into my juggling act. I can't say it's really on the top rung of that totem pole though, because I can't. It's still hugely important to me, but right now, my survival has to be most important. For my boys. All 4 of them.  It's all hard for me. I don't like to be selfish or put other's feelings aside, but right now, if I'm having a bad day, or a moment where I can't breathe or deal, or I'm sitting staring numbly at my son's picture for 10 minutes, it's really hard to be an awesome friend. It's just the way it is. I can't do it all. So, I just hope the people who "get it" or choose to get it, will stick around....In time, I hope to be a much better friend and more fun person to talk to. I hate thinking that by talking to me, they get more sad.  Grief is the loneliest of places. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. "Oh, but you'll be able to comfort so many other people now."....I pray, oh how I pray, it won't be anyone that I already know. I know we will all face losses at some point in our life, but I pray to God, that I won't ever have to comfort anyone I know on the loss of their child. The thought terrifies me. It truly does. And these are the things that bounce around this head of mine when people say things to me.......

  So, I guess what I want people to know, is, I'm surviving. I deal w/ the day, sometimes the moment, right in front of my nose. Much like I did in the ICU with Gray for 5 + months. Just now I'm back home living a seemingly normal life. I don't "get away to the beach to forget about things and have fun" for a few days. I mean, yes, I have fun, sure...but it's just a change of scenery. My son is with me wherever I, and we, go. He always will be. I hope my eldest son always tells people about his little brother, because he does have a little brother. And I hope someday I'll know how to bring him up a little better too. But for now, I will survive, and I will smile, and I will be silent.

  For now.

       ~~I miss you, my sweet boy. Mommy loves you. Have a wonderful night in Heaven <3~~