She Says, "But They're Home With You Now"

Syndicated

I have a condition.

A condition called "pre-mourning."

I don't call it that, my "expen$ive friend" *coughtherapistcough* does.

The lovely lady that I pay a very pretty penny to sit across from me and chat tells me this is the condition I have.

I lament the loss of what is to be whilst I have it sitting right in front of me.

Pre-mourning.

Three Boys

This incredible picture of my three boys above? I can't even look at it without feeling the wind knocked out of me, and having to fall back -- all needing smelling salts brought to me on the chaise.

These three glorious angels boys are mine. My boys so long ago, yet, not so long ago. How could I not have felt the golden moment when this picture was taken, while I had it in my hand? I can guess.

Probably some of that "pre-mourning" stuff. I was probably lamenting some photo that I had found that morning that showed them still in diapers. Whilst, right there, I had heaven on earth, right there.

Pre-mourning.

A few days ago, when I came across the picture of the three of them, while searching for a picture of my husband for another post, I fell headfirst into the jaws of this Pre-Mourning business.

This state of being that feels like such an unconquerable sadness, I can't even swallow, the ball in my throat hurts so much. Oh, the sweet days with my little ones are flying.

I sit across from my "expensive friend,"  and I lament the passing of the days, complete with back of the hand on the forehead, looking off mid-distance. The whole deal. Performances they give Academy Awards out for. I sigh to her:

Me: "but..but...the days of toy trains are gone.."
$he: "but they're still home with you now."
Me: "but..but..it's all over, my days of fullness are all over."
$he: "but they're still home with you now."

Me: "but...so soon...they'll be gone, gone..."
$he: "but they're still home with you now."

Bless her sweet heart, she tries -- oh, how she tries -- over and over and over. Same-time-next-week she tries. She has hope, but will I ever get to where she hopes to get me?

BUT THEY'RE STILL HOME WITH YOU NOW.

What she tries so delicately to tell me and hint at, since she is unable to tell me directly (you know, rules of therapy and insights arrived on one's own are much more meaningful, etc.), is that my sadness is over not living in the moment -- being there in the day captured in the pictures taken. Missing the present for lamenting the passing. Not being with them in all the glory of the being there. At that age, at that stage, with them.

My expensive friend -- I ache for her, and for the pleading I see in her own eyes, as she tries to convince me. She so much wants to teach me how to lift the gloom that takes on a life of its own once I birth it.

I carry a piece of my paper in my purse, that I pull out and try to read through a watery blur, while she talks to me. I stare at it. It says, "Who pushes back on time to stop it, is pushed back by time in its march, he who yields to it - finds it on his side."

 

Alexandra can also be found at her humor blog Good Day, Regular People.

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