Her hands deftly did what she must have spent hours doing. At first glance, the motion doesn’t make sense. Up and down, up and down.
“She’s sewing,” was whispered to me.
A lightbulb dawned. I nodded. The motions made sense.
“OH!” She begins to cry, distressed at the mistake she has made. A mistake only she can “see”, a mistake only she can cry and distress over.
And this sums up my days.
A repetitive motion, or motions rather. Crying in distress are mistakes and failures, but also heartache. Things I see, feel.
There are mistakes that are not so hidden, mistakes with my boys or that sarcastic remark that didn’t need to be made.
This post will seem like a cry for pity, it isn’t. This is possibly the last post I will make for awhile.
I keep remembering the lady, her hands. Those motions. And my heart breaks.
We make habits, right ? Is habit even the right word here? We have things, a routine that we do every day.
Wake up. Brush your teeth. Get Alex’s breakfast. Check the woodstove. Make the coffee / Heat up a mug of coffee. Pack Alex’s lunch. Spend time talking to Alex. Invest. Remember my to do list for the day. Walk outside. Wait for the bus. Come inside. Check the woodstove again. Reheat coffee / pour another mug full. Get started on the day.
With working now, I have a bit more variety. But still routine. Things I do in autopilot, with barely a second thought.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Her hands, those aged and beautiful hands doing on autopilot what she did a lot, sewing and mending, creating and fixing. A peaceful smile lights up her face when you praise the work that only she can “see”, she nods and in those moments she must feel honored to be praised for what she does.
I read this quote on the page An Unexpected Family Outing and it resonated.
There lies my struggle.
I am grieving not only the loss of a son then another baby. I am grieving the expectations, the normal pregnancy that was denied me. I am grieving a hole in my family of boys.
I am parenting a son who quickly calls himself “stupid” when we draw his attention to a mistake. I am parenting a son who doesn’t understand why God answers a prayer for his toe, but said “no” to healing his baby brother.
Our routine of “normal” was shattered. And we are left, picking up pieces, replacing old routines with a new one.
Our marriage. Our friendships.
Nothing is the same. Nothing is normal.
Yet it is.
This post has been hard. Because its difficult to put into words what I personally am feeling.
I feel like I’ve been left, picking up pieces and attempting to keep normal for my boys. I’m withdrawing and making my already small circle, a bit smaller. I’m open and honest, yet lonelier and hard to be friends with. I’m withdrawing officially from many of my responsibilities, feeling officially like a hypocrite.