Stabbing Pain

This morning my eyes opened. I didn’t necessarily want them to, but they did. In the fogginess of that chasm between being half asleep and half awake, for a millisecond, I forgot the reason I desired to stay asleep. It didn’t take very long, though, for it to come rushing in like high tide. Waves of sadness washed over me as I recalled the tearful goodbye to my grandson, daughter, and son-in-law not even 24 hours prior. Forced to drag myself out of bed to face the dreaded day, I managed to go through the typical morning routine.

Then I walked downstairs.

The waves of sadness rushed in even harder as I spotted the toys in the living room. The high chair we bought because he spent so much time at our house stood in the corner of the dining room. On the floor, scattered all around it, were Gerber sweet potato puffs that he had spilled just one day ago. His books lined  the bookshelf, the glaring absence of some of them stung. Some of his favorites I sent with him. The kitty book that he would ALWAYS bring to me to read with him is now in North Dakota.

I felt like someone had a knife and was stabbing me repeatedly with it. Only I couldn’t fight back. There was no physical attacker to run from or subdue. Instead, I was bombarded, stabbed, repeatedly with the emotions of missing someone I love, wondering how his night went, thinking about the fact that he will probably not remember me when I see him again. He won’t remember the fun time we had at the park just one day ago, the giggles as I pushed him in the swing and helped him slide down the slide.

I plan to avoid the park. It will hurt to see grandmas with their grandchildren, laughing, playing, and spending time together.  I actually plan to avoid people altogether for a while.

Stabbings can cause death from loss of blood. This kind of stabbing, though, is not as merciful to allow the escape of death. This kind of stabbing is a taunting, relentless kind that reminds me over and over that a huge hole has been ripped in my heart and nothing can fix it.

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About becmom45

Wife of one, mom of four, mom-in-law to two, grammy to one precious little boy; lover of snow, autumn, pumpkins, cats, books, baking, Charles Wysocki puzzles, Christmas; honest, raw author who hopes what is written here enlightens and educates those fortunate enough to not understand the demons chronicled.
This entry was posted in Change, depression, famiy, Grandma, Grandson, loneliness. Bookmark the permalink.

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