The date is June 28th. I am typing this from my bed. I am lying on my back and find myself drawn to just staring at the ceiling. I worked today, which was a good thing because focusing on work kept me from being in this place much earlier in the day. I fought the urge all day since I was working from home. After every finished task my thoughts drifted to the moment when I would finally be able to give in and sink into my squishy side of the bed where I would finally feel at home.
I got my family fed, cleaned up the kitchen a little, crossed a few more things off my to-do list and finally gave myself permission to give in....to honor my body and make my way to my bed. I feel welcomed like a long lost friend. The fans blow enough cool breeze to elicit the comfort of the soft blankets, the heaviness of that blanket somehow lightens the weight I have been carrying. The thunder in the distance echos the hollows of my body. The rain mimics my tears.
I am exhausted. Grief is exhausting. July 2 is in a mere matter of days and there is nothing I can do to avoid it. Crawling into my bed brings momentary relief. I can choose to close my eyes and sleep...but even if I do, the feeling of being rested never comes. I can choose to just stare and let my brain spin on the mess that my heart and body feel, facing the complex and conflicting feelings that reside in me.
The reality is I lay here and choose to do both. I stare at the textured ceiling and let my mind go and then I close my eyes to shut the world out. I sleep but then wake from a twisted dream that leaves my eyes damp. I let the tears come and stare off again. My nose starts to run and my tears come quicker. Mourning is messy.
Mourning is messy but such healing work....even when it doesn't feel that way. The foremost thought as I lay here on my bed is "I hate July 2." I hate that it exists. I hate trying to figure out what I want that day to look like four years later because my heart screams with the unfairness of it all. There are parts of me that still believe she will be in her bed in her room with her eye mask over her eyes when I get up in the morning. How can she be physically gone? How have almost four years passed?
I have so much pride surrounding her last weeks, honestly all 12.5 years. Keyan's disease demanded my life's work and much much more. Despite the incredible challenges, Keyan made it so easy to love her and care for her no matter what. And for us, that meant choosing to honor her body and the process of her disease. I have immense awe when I think back to how we as a family walked her Home. I have extreme gratefulness that Paul and I came together to hand her back to her Creator. In the same exact breath I hate it all.
This heartbreak and pride are twisted and entwined together. There is no starting point or end point. They are one in the same. It is the price of love. It is the gift of love. So, in honor of all that is to come over the next five days, I will honor the draw to be still and allow myself some time in the safety of my bed.
My bladder forces me up, the dogs greet me excitedly. The rain continues but the sky is bright. Maybe my girl will bring me a rainbow. Hope abounds.
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