I don’t know how to begin my post today, but everything is telling me to start typing away. Seven months is a long time to live without half of your heart. In the scheme of life, it’s a short amount of time, which makes it feel more horrible knowing how many more there will come without him.
If Jensen was here, there wouldn’t be a lot of words, just a picture of him smiling and me telling you more about him. What tastes he likes, how big he’s getting, and I’m sure I’d tell you he’s still dancing to Usher. Maybe that picture would be outside on this beautiful day. I think he would be being held by his grandparents, since they’d be celebrating their anniversary this weekend. For some reason, I can imagine them matching with their outfit colors. All I see is smiles and feel like it’s a playful moment between the three of them.
Such a peaceful moment I vividly see, that will never happen.
My life, seven months post loss has one foot in the harsh reality that is and the other envisioning what it would be like if he was here. Seeing those dreams and feeling these emotions afterwards it what makes things complicated. Admittedly, it’s nice to see him in my mind. It keeps his spirit lively and lets me escape the dread momentarily. The feeling part is what’s worse. A mix of letting happiness fill my body when I hear his laugh, that I’ve never heard. Then when it stops… That silence and stillness that I absolutely hate pulls me down; drowns me in the sea of grief. I literally can feel the sobs coming on when that happens, like I’m coughing up salt water while my body convulses.
This life is hard.
Usually, I try to find some good in all of this. I’ll say holding Jensen bear has helped and so has seeing Jensen’s candle on. This morning I woke up feeling lighter than I usually do on the fifth of every month. I dreamt of him last night and this morning’s stillness felt peaceful. Maybe he wanted me to be reassured that he’s still right here with me. As the morning has come to a close and the afternoon welcomes me, I’m waiting for some of the flashbacks of this day in April. They usually hit on these big trigger days. When that happens, I won’t be able to find any good. Instead of holding Jensen bear and finding comfort, I’ll be upset in wondering how much heavier he would be at seven months old. Anything good in life now comes with a double-edged sword.
When I let myself predict how the rest of this days goes, I think it’ll be better than the last few months. Not because I’m ‘getting over’ his death or I’m completely ‘healed,’ it’s more of my body preparing for the rest of the next two months. As I said on the first, there are things coming up that will sting. I feel almost as if my brain is protecting me today by keeping itself busy. I’m not sure. Living with grief is different each day.
In honor of his seven months in heaven, here is a picture you’ve never seen before. It’s of his nose, lips, and of course his big cheeks. Today when looking at his ultrasounds, I was drawn to this one. Looks like he’s trying to look up at me and I can imagine him looking up at the tree outside of his window. Seeing the beautiful orange leaves and the bright blue sky. He’d be such a curious boy, always listening and wanting to learn more.
Happy seven months in heaven, Jensen Grey! Instead of gold confetti this month, I hope you’re celebrating in a fall wonderland. There are orange leaves surrounding you and you’re watching them as the fall all around you. I hope the angels are singing sweet lullabies to you and the wind carries their voices down for me to hear. Celebrate and let the love I have for you surround and warm you. I wish you could be here with me.
I miss you. I love you.