This morning at 5am, the girls left with their Dad on a week-long vacation to Florida to visit his father and stepmother. I was supposed to go with them but about two weeks ago Aaron and I sat down and decided I should stay home. We just moved into our new apartment on Sunday and we really need to unpack. This house is quite a bit smaller than our last apartment and it is going to take some careful planning to store and organize all of our stuff. I plan on spending this next week turning our new house into a home and I can’t wait to see how excited the girls are to see their old toys in new places.
But the real reason I am staying home is to grieve. It has almost been a month since my Dad passed away and I have yet to be alone with my feelings, with my grief, with the freedom to not have to hold it all together. This past month I have been in a complete fog. I wake up, make the girls breakfast, take Edie to school, pack up the house, unpack the house, make dinner, do bath time, read stories, tuck everyone in and then wait for Aaron to come home. I’m a robot, going through the motions of my life. I know that the routine is good. I am grateful that I have something that motivates me to continue my day-to-day routine. I’m grateful that I have the girls to love, to distract me, to make me feel whole. But still, I don’t have it all together. I’m this close to falling apart. I needed time to let the sadness come in and be felt, be appreciated, be recognized so that it can move on, so that I can move on.
I feel so guilty that I am not with the girls right now. I feel like I should want the girls around constantly. I feel such immense pressure to be the mom who can do it all and say, “Oh but baby snuggles make everything better”. But the truth is, they don’t. They help, they lessen the hurt, but all of the snuggling in the world can’t take this pain away. I’m going to miss waking up with Edith every morning and having her arms around my neck. I’m going to miss chasing Lilah around the house to come sit in her highchair for dinner. I’m going to miss the quiet moments I spend with each of them alone at night putting them to bed. But I need this. Asking for what I need isn’t easy but it is what’s going to make me better, for them and for me.