Getting away

I love our house. I like being home and being surrounded by Samuel's things and the memories of our time together instead of facing the world of constant reminders of what I don't have. Yes, it's sad that those things are not being used by him. Yes, there are times when I consider putting them away. But what will that accomplish? How would moving those things to storage make them less sad?

There is this little chair of his in the living room. In it sits the monkey Bryan got for him.

I look at the monkey's face - happily expecting the little guy who will snuggle it and chew on it and sleep with it - and I'm sad. That day will never come. But the monkey just keeps on smiling. (I guess at some point we should tell him Samuel died). I tried to put the chair away a while ago. Having it gone was much more sad than having it there. So I put it back.

I love being around the things that remind me of the time I spent with Samuel. The rocking chair I used to rock him each night, to sing to him and read him stories. Those were the times I'll always remember.

I like being home...but I also sometimes just need to get away. I need to be around other things and have other things to look at. As I've mentioned before, I don't like to get out much; there is too much "out there" that reminds me of what seemingly everyone else has and what I'm missing. But sometimes I just need to get away.

This past Friday, after a very emotional week, I told Bryan, "we've got to get outta here before I lose my mind entirely!" So we got outta here. We went to a hotel and hid away from the world and people and our same old routine. It was good.

You may not understand this, but a weird thing can happen sometimes. I can be peaceful when I'm away because somehow my mind believes we just left Samuel with someone for the weekend to get time to ourselves. It must be some type of denial, but it's perfectly ok with me. I can miss him terribly, but I can also realize that we need to focus on us for a little while.

So we watched movies and napped and ate out and ignored the world as much as possible. (Get this: we go to a French restaurant late at night figuring it's probably the last place on earth to see a baby. No such luck, we were sat directly across from a mama with a new baby. Thankfully, it was a girl, which is slightly better, but goodness sakes...there is no place safe!)  I got to watch cable which is fun because we got rid of it in lieu of Netflix a long time ago. I escaped.

It was good.

Now, back home, I feel a little bit better. Ever so slightly recharged to face more of the sadness. (You may not know this - yeah right - but it's almost the holiday season. I'm ready to move to a country that has no idea what Thanksgiving and Christmas are, but for now, at least, I feel the tiniest bit more prepared to face it.)  Grief is so hard. It's constant. There is no real way around it. So I get worn out very easily. I think if I can find a way to escape - even if it's only a pretend escape - it's good to take that break.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to go away if he were with us. What does it feel like to miss your baby so much - like I always do - but know that you're actually going to see them soon? What must it be like to drive up to grandma's house and run in and pick them up and feel all the missing melt away? I don't know and I don't get to know. So I just imagine...

I bet that's an awesome feeling.