” The waves keep on crashing on me for some reason..” No Doubt have I sung these words in my head over and over the past few weeks.
I haven’t been sleeping much the past week. It seems as if the enormity of what has happened seeps in so very slowly. It happens in waves. I’m functioning at what would appear, outside looking in, at a normal or acceptable level but then a wave crashes on me. I’m gasping for some understanding of how I got here. I feel suffocated with fear and sadness and shock. He’s really not here. I don’t wallow around in sadness and darkness but there are those moments in the day or more so in the night where it grips me so tight.
I have been having flashbacks to the first day that he got sick. I replay every moment of what happened as if my brain is trying to put the past 23 months into order. I see his face and I hear his cry and I try and think that if I would have done something differently, just a fraction of a second differently would he still be here. I know, it’s true torture.
I know things would still be the same, this was going to happen…but I haven’t allowed myself the entire time, to put these moments into order. I haven’t wanted too but more than that, it was a manner of survival. Moving forward, taking care of how to help him , how to deal with each day and there was no time for digesting the moments that have lead us here.
I feel like the journey has been a train barreling forward only to have had several stops where Andy and I look at each other and ask , Is this real? The moments of acceptance of Walker being gone were first of relief. He was not the same after that first seizure. We helped him hang on with medicines, doctors, g-tubes and therapy but he was still so sick. I wanted him to have his heavenly body and to be with Jesus. That is what we all want. I didn’t have time to deeply process the loss of my first born child.
I have nothing but time now. I have tried resting and staying busy but it is creeping over me like a sadness that I only felt at the very beginning. It’s not an all encompassing sadness but a deep gut wrenching wave that will take your breath away and then retreat. It doesn’t last long but takes enough out of you to stop your to do list or momentum forward and reflect. I can’t predict when I will feel it.. Sometimes it’s provoked and sometimes it’s just time to feel it.
So instead of pushing these waves away, I allow myself to feel them. I feel a lot of things…amazement that he made it this long, gratefulness that God used his story to impact others walks with Christ, joy that he is with Jesus and no longer suffering and sadness that he isn’t here. I do take moments, hours.. to feel the pain…
I have learned that each day is a choice. A choice to get up. A choice to enjoy Weston and Andy. A choice to move forward and to imagine my life without him physically here. A choice to not let the sadness dictate my mind. A choice that my fear of all that could go wrong will be subdued to the fact that God has promised me joy . A choice to endure it and feel it all. Feeling it makes it real.
I want to move past this fragile time to a point of not bursting into tears when I think about him or being shaken when a grocery store clerk asks how many children I have.. The reality of our life being so different now then it has been is a lot to process. I am grateful for a second chance at my life. A life that I had mapped out perfectly after meeting my husband and having children. I thought I knew what was next and now I don’t. Truthfully, no one does. No one knows what is next and I find excitement and possibility in that.
So I take these waves of reality and moments of shock as they come. I press forward just as everyone else does each day and it’s hard. I look for meaning in this and encouragement from those around me that have supported us this whole time. I look for ways to encourage others, only if it is the small push forward that I can give that day. It matters, every little moment matters. Even the sad ones. These pictures are just ones that I found off of Facebook of little moments that people took to show support of Walker and how they matter to me so much more then they knew.
“And if you’re feeling Hella Good then I’ll just keep on dancing..” Sorry, it’s catchy…