12 Weeks In

11 Comments

Earlier this week, I called in sick.  Someone could easily say I had a case of the Mondays but truth be told all I wanted to do was cry.  I cry at work but I was afraid if I cried the way I was feeling on Monday someone might put me in a mental institution.  So I called in sick.  I told my employer I wasn’t feeling well and they expressed that they hoped I felt better soon.  Soon?  Not when you call in heartbroken.  I dropped off Alejandro and was honest with Paul – I just couldn’t and didn’t want to deal with people on a day that I was missing Joaquin so much.

Twelve weeks  in and I stared at myself in the mirror.  Tear stained, wearing pajamas at noon and completely defeated.  For one day at least.  Twelve weeks in and I still can’t take his car seat out of my van.  Twelve weeks in and his toothbrush still sits in the same place.  Twelve weeks in and his inhaler sits on the kitchen counter.  Twelve weeks in and his aspirin stares back at me, untouched.  Twelve weeks in and I still sleep with his blanket and his t-shirt.  Twelve weeks in and I still can’t believe this happened to us.  Twelve weeks in and I cannot believe I experienced the circle of life with my 4 year old.  At mass this past Sunday, I realized that I stood in the same spot where we promised to raise Joaquin to believe in God 4 years ago only to stand there again and turn him back in to our Lord.  At times, twelve weeks in, I still walk in a fog.  I often wonder just how I manage to still stand here.  To still laugh.  To still eat.  To still breathe.  But twelve weeks in and on days like Monday, yes, I think I can no longer go on one more day without him.

Joaquin 1220

Twelve weeks in and it pains me to see that life certainly moves on whether you’re ready to or not.  The bills still need to get paid.  The phone calls have slowed.  Even Alejandro seems better.  Twelve weeks in and at times, my six year old comforts us the way we comforted him in the beginning.  He’ll hear us crying, drops what he’s doing and hugs us until one of us pulls away…at just the right time.  Twelve weeks in and this child that keeps us going has grown up faster than any child should.

Ale and Dusty Walking

Twelve weeks in and I realize I have a long and tiresome road to travel.  I have fallen time and time again.  And each day, I manage to pick myself up, dust myself off and start all over again.  Twelve weeks in and I realize I have two choices – I can let it beat me and break me down or I can keep walking even with tears in my eyes.  I choose the latter.  It’s better to cry and keep walking than to just cry and let grief consume you.

Twelve weeks in – yes, it can be done.

strength and dignity

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11 thoughts on “12 Weeks In

  1. Love you Christie and your beautiful words.. I admire you and your strength! I think of you and Paul and Joaquin and Alejandro Daily! XOXOXO

  2. I love you Christie. Days like these (I have learned) are allowed. It’s ok to do this from time to time. I think just asking God to give you strength and pull you through is a good idea. I’ve done that before. Sometimes, I’m driving home and it all of a sudden hits me and I weep uncontrollably (and I’ve learned that that’s allowed as well). I am here if you ever wanna talk, hang or go get coffee. Much love my friend. ❤️️

  3. Beautiful and honest as always Christie. I know there are no words to make it better but, gosh I wish there was. I think of you all the time and look forward to getting together soon.

  4. This is the first time I have read your blog. You are a beautiful writer. As I read your log, I thought of my own personal losses over the years. I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but really what I can say is it gets “different.” When Ivana contracted Encephalitis she lived, she survived but she did so differently. She was not the child before her horrific seizures, she was not the child who spoke, walked and talked nor will she be the child she may have been destined to be. That said she is a blessing, she inspires me and she is the catalyst for who I am today. Yet, when I look at her sometimes (not all the time) I feel incredible pain which produces a reaction in my body as if my throat were closing off. When people learn of my husband’s death and it appears so raw to them and I reply 20 years they look at me like “get over it” Sweet wonderful Momma, the truth is his death impacts me everyday. Is it better than at the beginning of this turn in my road? Sure.. but it is still there, in a quiet place in my heart that I hasten to revel to often. You are who you are, and you feel what you feel. You are doing wonderful even through your tears. You are 12 weeks in, feel your feelings, and cry your tears. This is a tremendous loss and it will always be there. What I see is that through your writing you are healing, you are helping others you are not staying silent at the bullies and you are real. You sweet baby boy would want you to go to parties, he would want you to be with friends, he would want you to live the life that he was called away from in such a short period of time. You and your honor your son and his legacy but putting your foot, or even a toe forward every day. I love you and I cannot wait to see you. We are sisters now, sisters in loss but also sisters in putting it forward and more than surviving but championing every moment.

    • Thank you Sue. Your words mean so much to me. I have a feeling you and I will only grow closer. This part of grief I enjoy… the blessings of friendships that God bestows on me so that I can continue on my journey. I cannot wait to see you so we can talk and learn. Love you!

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