Last night I was watching a show and the main character's husband died. She was so heartbroken. The last scene jumped forward to the day when she died. It showed her spirit standing over her body and then turning around to see her husband's spirit standing in the doorway, waiting to hold her and kiss her and bring her to heaven. It was such an amazing moment to watch because you got this sense that nothing mattered anymore. All the pain of the world was gone. Everything was good and right and perfect...forevermore. I cried. And cried. And then cried some more. I can't possibly wait another day for that moment when I get to see Samuel in front of me, waiting for me to hold him and kiss him and never let him go ever again. I want that day more than anything else. If I was handed a remote with a fast-forward button for my life, you couldn't keep me from pressing it until I get to that day. (Thank goodness for my future self that remote doesn't exist.) I guess it should be comforting to know that day will come. But it's so ridiculously far away it doesn't provide much comfort. (Or, maybe not...who knows what each day will bring). Just like the song says "every minute takes and hour, every inch feels like a mile". Oh my sweet little guy! I miss you so! My heart beats for you and sometimes I'm sure it'll just stop because it hurts so much to have you gone.
It's day four of no sleep at night time. I'm up all night, then nap a bit during the day. I just can't get to sleep like I should. I miss him too much. And, really, it doesn't matter because I have nothing to do for the rest of my life. Who cares if I'm on a weird schedule? I should be raising my son but instead I'm nursing a broken heart and trying to put my life back together in some form. I just don't care enough yet. My house is a mess because I just don't care anymore and I have no energy. Our lawn is overgrown for the same reason. There are weeds in every flowerbed and I've given up on trying to water the garden. Nothing matters. Poor Bryan has been fending for himself food-wise because the energy to cook is just not there for me. I have the idea to make him a nice meal, and even look up a recipe, but the actual execution is where I fail. Poor guy. I wonder what it's like to have a dead son and useless wife. He just keeps on loving me... and I love him. I cry a lot at night and have been waking him up at crazy hours to hold me while I do so. He doesn't complain. He just holds me close and soothes me as best he can.
Is this really happening?