I'm never going to sleep after carbo-loaded dinner and then carbo-loaded late night snack...but leftover spaghetti is so good (especially if it's deep-fried, which this was not, and especially if deep-fried on a bun, which also, obviously, this was not).
But sleep patterns are all wonky over here at Casa Reynolds anyway. The thing that I potentially feel worst about is how everything that has happened is affecting Tanner. We will be attending a bereavement service for children (and parents) starting next week, and it can't be soon enough. The poor kid finally got used to not having our undivided attention, and now I feel like most of the time I'm dying of thirst and Tanner is a cold glass of water. I can't begin to imagine the confusion he feels when I know he understands what has happened in our family but can't necessarily verbalize what he is feeling. Or, he can verbalize what he's feeling, but he chooses not to (to protect us? to protect himself?) And I think he feels guilty for not crying constantly. When he does cry, it looks and sounds as though it physically hurts him (why should I be surprised? It physically hurts me when I let myself cry about her). Tanner used to have night terrors. They were frustrating, but it was generally all right in the end, because he wouldn't remember them in the morning. Now he has nightmares. Some nights he screams, cries, kicks, and the only intelligible thing he says is, "Ari." I am hoping the nightmares are simply missing her and fear of the unknown, but I suspect that the nightmares stem from everything he has seen - the discovery, the CPR, the 911 call, the EMTs, the ER.
It's so frustrating to not be able to do more than tap the surface of his grief and comfort him as best as we are able. Sometimes he wants to know why we can't just go to Heaven to be with Jesus and Ari (and Great-Grandmas and Great-Grandpas). But I don't have an answer for that either. I'd kind of like to just go to Heaven and be with my family and God, too. But there is so much more in this big big world that I want to experience, and want to experience it as a human - all the high mountains and all the deep rivers and everything in between - literally and metaphorically. And now I have to enjoy it all the more, for Ariana.
Despite it all, I am so proud of my little man. Tonight we had a major meltdown that involved a 1 hour + temper tantrum. We are trying to balance our empathy for his confusion and sorrow with the knowledge that we still have to direct him and teach him to be a good person. And I thought being a good parent was hard before! Thankfully, Ryan is here with me. When I am down, he is strong for us. When he is down, I try my damndest to be strong for them. This grieving process is so freaking foreign. I am back to a semi-regular work schedule, but things seem so quiet and plodding. I dread being alone in the quiet. When I'm alone, the isolation serves nothing but to increase a sense of anger - not at God, or anything tangible - just at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Why Ariana? Why not me instead? I'd trade me for her in a heartbeat. Why couldn't something terrible have happened in a way that perhaps would have caused me pain, but spared the rest of the family and our loved ones feeling this? I'm still unsure if I can ever be at peace with this. I know time will allow scar tissue to form over this big ball of painful goo that is sitting in my gut, but I don't know if I want that. At the same time, I don't want to feel this way forever.
And so it goes. The same old thoughts in the same red hot groove, over and over and over again. (And I thought my humdrum routine was terrible before!) Don't get me wrong. I'm still happy, in whatever ways I can be. I still smile, I still laugh. I still love my entire family just as much as before, more than before. I still love Jesus, I still love God, just as much if not more than before. I'm still the same old me. Just with part of me ripped out and dragging behind me.
Except I keep gathering it up in my arms and stuffing it back in where it belongs. Because that's where Ari belongs. Close to my heart, just like always. (Always). Hopefully, eventually, it will stop spilling out quite so prolifically. Because really. This is just a gross metaphor.
In other news, Tanner is going to see the dentist for the first time tomorrow. I'm not going to lie, I'm pretty excited about it. Not in a sadistic way. Just excited for another growing up milestone for my big handsome boy. Also, tomorrow is Tanner's half-birthday. How is he halfway to FOUR?!?! This is insane. In many ways I feel like that gauche, inexperienced, socially inept girl I've always been deep down inside...except Ryan, Tanner, and Ari have pushed me to grow so far that a lot of the time, I laugh that I was ever that insecure or that needy. What a long, strange trip it's been.
On that note. Time for some tunes, and then bed. I bet I'll have some strangey-strange dreams with a belly full of spaghetti!
No comments:
Post a Comment