Time for a counselor...or maybe drugs?

It's been kind of an introspective day. So, let me begin by saying that before I wrote this post, I thought I'd go back and read a few of my more recent musings.

What a mess!!!

Of course, I wish I could take it all back and say that I'm not a mess, but after today, I think it's a fairly accurate assessment.

To start, the party was fine...good...there. No, really it was good, but I don't think I was very present. My friends really are wonderful. Several showed up to help me beforehand and a crew did all the cleanup for me. They really are an amazing group of fun, giving, selfless people. Interestingly enough, that's how I am so certain that I have gone completely insane.

I think my friends don't like me.

Oh, and I think I am dumb. And ugly. And a bad mom.

And, I have too much baggage for anyone to want to be with me.

This insecurity has happened periodically over the past 11 months. Sigh, 11 months? I can't really figure out what causes it. Could be stress. Could be timing. Could be lonliness. Heck, it could be PMS for all I know. Regardless, I hate it. In general, I don't have a lot of respect for people who aren't their own cheerleaders. By that I mean that whiny, insecure people aren't the most fun to be around. Not that I can't love them in a Christian "love your neighbor even if you don't like them sort of way", but I don't usually choose to hang out with them. And here I am being one of them.

I had lunch with a good friend last week who has experienced her own fair share of loss. She made a statement that caused me to get physically ill and visibly shaken. She said, "Grief changes your molecular structure. You are forever changed." I don't want to be different. I still want to be youthful and peppy and optimistic and confident. I want to be like I was when Dalton met me so that I can have again what I had with him. But I don't know if that is possible. Either one, really - being what I was or having what I had.

I really wish I had a happy post to publish. I want to be happy. I am trying. Trying really hard, but what I really want to do is not have to deal with any of it. Getting old and dealing with life just sucks.

Right this second, I am keenly aware of my need to find another counselor. That, or discover that Dalton is still here, that my best friend hasn't disappeared. Right this second, I really just want to curl up beside him and feel safe and loved.

Iain's Birthday

I woke up this morning at five o' clock and the first thing I thought of was holding Dalton's hand in the labor and delivery room at St. Joseph's hospital in Burbank. It was just about five when the nurse came into the room and said that the doctor was on his way.

Impossible to believe that was just two year's ago.

Today I have been flooded with thoughts of that day and how much emotion and joy and expectation and promise there was. My labor was 23 hours long and Dalton was there the whole time. In fact, I think he slept less that night than I did. When Iain finally arrived, his first scream didn't really impress the respiratory therapist, so he was take to the NICU for monitoring. Dalton went with him and took pictures of Iain's first bath, his first yawn, his first swaddle. Dalton was so relieved that everyone was healthy becuase for some reason he had a terrible fear that I was going to die in childbirth.

Life is just so different from what it was supposed to be.

Last year, Iain's birthday party was a huge affair. For many people, it was the last time they saw Dalton alive. He was really thin and obviously sick, but that day God gave him supernatural strength and joy. He might not have looked like himself, but he certainly behaved that way. He was the consummate host, making the rounds, smiling, laughing, and making sure that we didn't run out of hot dogs or nacho cheese (it was a Dodger themed event). I still don't know how he managed to do so much, but I think he either knew or feared that it would be the only birthday he would share with his son, and he wanted to do it right.

Tomorrow is Iain's second birthday party and to be honest, I really don't have the energy or the inclination to take over where Dalton left off. I don't want to be the consummate host, smiling, laughing and making sure we don't run out of pizza (no Dodger theme this year). Not without my partner. Not without Iain's Daddy. Not when every bone in my body hurts from weeks of poor sleep and I have a horrible headache (something that happens every time I cry all day). But damnit, Iain deserves better than that. Yes, he needs to know I'm sad and that grief is real and that I miss his Dad terribly. But, he also needs to know that he is important too. That his birthday is worth my energy and my joy. He needs to be able to run around the yard with his buddies and open presents and enjoy being celebrated for who he is. And for goodness sake, if Dalton was able to do it...

So, please, God, let me have the strength to do that for Iain. Let me have the strength to do it for Dalton. Let me do it right.