Today marks 3 months since my little Teddy has been gone. Time is an interesting thing.
When we are little and hour seems like a day, and a summer vacation is an eternity of warm days, playing with friends, exploring the world, riding bikes, and basking in the glow of no school work. As we get older, the days get shorter, hours even shorter, and years can just fly by with the blink of an eye. My father (who is an avid reader and has been obsessed with time passing and death) told me that this is because time is relative. When we are young, the days are longer because we haven't lived as many of them, but as we get older and years pass, we have seen many days, so they are much shorter in relation to how many we have already experienced. These 3 months have been the longest of my life. Sometimes an hour feels like a day. A minute feels like a year.
This morning my son, Logan, who will be 3 in just 1 month, woke up from our bed (he has trouble sleeping through the night in his bed since Teddy died) in a foul-ish mood, crying for his iPad. He has been using it as his coping tool ever since he lost his brother. It's like his friend now, and his father and I sometimes get upset and don't want him watching it so much, but if we take it away he throws the biggest tantrums, and it's just not worth it to upset him so much. Anyway, I can see this difference in time for him because he was asking constantly to go outside (it's 31 degrees and windy) and we kept asking him to "wait a minute, you'll be going to school soon." In his mind, that means the next second and he is asking again. And again. And again.
My husband drove him to school about 90 minutes ago, and it feels like forever. What have I done since then? Smoked a cigarette, wrote a Facebook post about the 3-month mark, cleaned up parts of the apartment, purchased a basket to put all our blankets that have been living on the couch in, and cried. I rode my grief wave, and was just drying my tears when I started this post. Oh, and I took my Zoloft and multivitamin. Finished my cold coffee and want another.
On the one hand, I am grateful for my autonomous time. On the other, I have absolutely NO IDEA what to do with myself. I have been really into cross stitch lately, and "The Blacklist" on Netflix, but those are my tools to numb out. Today I don't feel like doing that, at least not yet. How will I pass these minutes? How can I deal with the pain I feel? With this black hole of grief that sucks me in and won't let me go? It's so hard sometimes to look at pictures and videos of my Teddy because it is a reminder that that is all that is left of him. I won't be able to have any new photos or videos. I will never get to see him play with his brother. I will never get to hear his beautiful voice demand to go outside RIGHT NOW while at the same time refusing to put on his shoes so that we can go outside.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. This existence without half my heart sucks. It blows so hard. I fucking HATE it. But it's what I have to deal with, and what do we do in this life? We go on, somehow. We take that shaky step forward. We breathe in. We breathe out. Yesterday I spent several hours in bed and couldn't make myself get up for anything. Today I feel a little better, but who knows? Time, what do you have in store for me today?
Out I go to smoke another cigarette and ponder this existence.... The video below is from our last dinner as a family of 4, the last one we have of our beautiful living baby boy. I love you forever, my sunshine boy.
December 29, 2022
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