I imagine if my life had not changed, if they were here, right now, ‘what would they be doing? What would they look like? What would they sound like? What would I be doing?’ I often think to myself, ‘If they were here I would teach them this, or show them that‘. Every day those thoughts cross my mind. Are they okay? Do they miss me as I miss them? Are they healthy? Do they remember the things I did get to teach them? Do they cry at night? Do they feel broken? Who have they become?
Be quiet, my brain! Do not think about them, I will die! Stop it I say, stop thinking that way! There is a constant fight to keep my sanity through all of this. It means to cut off part of my being to just be able to stand up and breathe. To leave my home. To talk to people. It means denying my heart, my soul and my mind the opportunity to be real or to expose the honest truth. It is in that truth that the frailty of my mind can shatter, if not guarded to the extreme like a good soldier.
I can not bear this pain. I simply cannot do it. So, I don’t. I become intentionally numb. Numb so that I can find the strength to still live. I redirect myself at every thought that tries to run free, and I get lost in a world of learning new things so as to become more than I have been, more than the mom I was, more than the mom I still am. I throw myself headfirst into distractions of hope. Better living, being and re-creating. I allow glimpses of their words, expressions of their faces to softly caress a quickened thought, but I do not let it linger. If I do, by accident, I will then just fall apart.
At night when I lay down to sleep, I play calming sleep meditations so that I will not have my thoughts wandering about the darkness. It helps greatly and without it, I would have never gotten through so many nights. I owe it to my children, in the end, to still be here, so I am, and I will be, God willing. So I guess until then, I am blowing my kisses into the wind and repeating fading memories of them again and again. As it goes I don’t know anymore who they are or what they have become, a stolen family album that’s changed all its pages, deleted us one by one, a stolen life of love. Still today a hope that remains, that one day we will see God’s promise of both vengeance and restoration.