Monday, June 28
The day that Connor died, the moment he passed in my arms- my life, my world, my heart shattered into millions and millions of tiny pieces. I was broken when he died. I could hardly breathe, I couldn't stand. After saying goodbye, I laid in bed and stared for hours trying to fight away the memories and thoughts of those last minutes.
But we had Colby and I didn't have a choice. I quickly gathered up piece after piece after piece to be strong for him. I gathered up the pieces I needed to smile, to laugh, to love, to function. The past 11 months I have continued to pick up the pieces. I picked up the pieces needed to go back to school, to be a mother, a wife, a daughter, a friend. I've picked up the pieces needed to get through holidays, through big events, through small events. I've been pushing through, all the while putting together a semblance of normalcy again.
There are always more pieces to gather, to find spots for, but I think I do a pretty good job with the pieces I have. I give Colby my all, I give Johnny all I can, I get through the days. Lately I'm still getting pieces together, more slowly now. Most of me is together again, most of me is whole. But the pieces are getting harder and harder to find.
I can't quickly repair the cracks anymore. I can't hide the holes because the pieces aren't in reach anymore.
And for some reason today that has become so painfully obvious.
Today, for the first time, I realized that I don't think I will ever be fully okay again and that terrifies me. There are pieces of me that I will never fully find, never fully repair. Pieces that won't be together, that will never be okay.
And that scares me more than anything has scared me so far.