Dreams.

There are two things I know to be true for tomorrow. First, it will be a beautiful day. June is in full swing with the warm, summer weather. A great day to be outside and swimming in the pool. It’s the kind of day I would wish and wish for in past summers. Second, storm clouds will be following me the entire day. Tomorrow marks ten weeks without Jensen.

In times like these, our memory and brains are always searching for a relatable situation to help guide us along. Honestly, there is nothing like having a child die. All the BIG, “life-changing” emotions and situations that have effected me in my life, tended to fizzle out. I have been excited to go to new places, sad during certain events, and really angry. In time, all those intense emotions just where there then left definitely after ten weeks. During the past ten weeks, my emotions and thoughts have not lessened. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

Each day that passes is hard. The initial shock of everything that happened has wore off and all those emotions have surfaced. It doesn’t feel like I should be moving forward without Jensen. Last week, I couldn’t stop crying. Getting out of bed every single morning felt like it was all I could do. There was a time I looked to the backseat where Jensen’s car seat should have been. When I turned around, I imagined Jensen sitting there so contently with a pacifier in his mouth and a big, grey sunhat on his head. In this image, he was content with just being in the car with us. Everywhere I look, the images happen. Instead of having a storm following me tomorrow, I should be playing with him and celebrating him being ten weeks old.

I don’t think this type of grief will ever really go away. How can losing a child not effect the rest of your life? I’ve read it can take around five years to really be able to consistently have good days. Like, returning to normal but not. Believe me, you can’t return to normal after losing your precious child. I believe a new normal will re-emerge, where there’s more good days than bad. Where not all my thoughts are consumed by loss. I know I’ll think of Jensen every single day for the rest of my life. The difference is, I’ll be able to separate all the good things I love about Jensen from death’s ugly grip.

After a week full of tears, today has been peaceful. Probably the calm before the storm, but that’s just the way I think now. It started off so beautifully. Anthony made me breakfast in bed; eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. The look on his face, he was so proud of himself. I hope my smile was a big enough “thank you” to him. It was one of the moments I always pictured Jensen helping him with. My boys. I picture Jensen with a big smile, trying to carry the red tray and Anthony right behind him making sure he doesn’t spill it everywhere. The both of them just trying to start my day off beautifully. Big smiles would fill the room.

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Obviously this morning I instantly was thinking of that dream I have. I was surprised grief didn’t set in, instead I was able to live in the calm before the storm. Our end tables got stained, I cleaned the house, and only cried one time. A semi decent day without the waves of grief crashing down. This type day hasn’t really happened since Jensen’s been born. There’s been fleeting moments, but not a whole day (knock on wood). I felt like I needed to honor Jensen today in acting out a dream I wanted with him. A simple, little dream really. I picked flowers, lilies, from outside and put them in a vase. Little boys always try and give their mommas flowers. I needed more Jensen today and bringing the beauty of the flowers inside helped with that.

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I believe Jensen gave me this beautiful day. Him and his dad must have teamed up to make me smile and feel comfortable today. Maybe it’s because I’ve allowed myself a good day. Grief is hard, hard work. Living day to day with this heavy loss tugs on my soul. Today wasn’t about Jensen’s death, it reminded me of Jensen’s life. It was warm, beautiful, and made me smile. It started and it will end with thoughts of my little man.

Jensen, thank you for giving me this day. I know you see my hard days and only wish I had good ones. My heart is so heavy, but continues to love you so very much. I hope as you turn ten weeks old in heaven, they hold you while they dance and sing you the sweetest lullabies. I hope you smile and are warm. Jensen Grey, I hope you’re swaddled with our love and hear every word I whisper to you.

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