Today marks 1 month since the darkest day of my life, again. One month since we learned our sweet Lucas had gone to be with Jesus. One month since the nurse sadly shook her head no, tears streaming down her face. One month since my life shattered. One month since I last had hope.
There are so many painful reminders all around me. Even fun things that I can now do that I couldn't because of my pregnancy restrictions - jump into a pool, ride a roller coaster or water slide with Warren and Dean, carry Hannah AND my diaper bag, go for a run - all these things that I've been looking forward to doing again, but now they're surrounded by guilt. Guilt because Lucas is gone, because I shouldn't enjoy something that I shouldn't be doing if everything was perfect. I've loved seeing my kids' faces as they laugh at me in the pool again. Hannah was too little last summer to remember any of it, so she's especially found joy at swimming dates with mommy this week. But, underlying it all, mixed in to each "happy" moment, is the grief and pain at missing my boy so desperately.
I miss Lucas so much I physically hurt. Sometimes I feel like I can't breath through it all. But I've tried my best to put on my happy face and make Lucas' life count for something. I could so easily bury myself in my covers, hiding from the world, never leaving our home. It's what I actually want to do every second of every day. But then my desire to be Lucas' mommy takes over, and I chose to shower (sometimes), get dressed, and take a step forward. I do my best to not go running from the park when the pregnant women gathered around me are complaining about how miserable it is to be big in the heat of the summer. I try not to break down while looking for children's books and seeing the display of "Big sister" books. Because, Reagan should have had those first, and then Hannah. But ultimately, we have no reason to be reading them in our home. Broken. I would do anything to go back to June 9 and have a different outcome. To arrive at the hospital concerned and anxious and be told that everything was okay. As I lie awake at night, I relive those moments over and over, questioning, processing, and ultimately crumbling all over again as I hold Lucas' sweet baby blanket and look through his pictures. I cannot believe it has already been a month since he died, that tomorrow will mark 1 month since I met him and said goodbye.