It’s 2:16 am and I’m sitting on my couch eating cereal, watching Friends on TV Land, and typing this. I spent the first part of the night asleep in Jack’s bed. He has become pretty aware of things and now gets scared at night in his room. Also albuterol is my best friend and my enemy. He needs his inhaler pretty often in these cold months, so it’s a must before bed but also keeps him up SO LATE.
Jack’s TV obsession Daniel Tiger taught him about shadows and how they aren’t scary if you figure out what they really are. He fully understands the concept when he’s watching the show, however, in real life it seems to be lost on him. So I’m pretty sure it’s just made him aware of shadows which he otherwise wouldn’t have noticed. Tonight he was scared by a shadow from a picture frame. Like buried in his face in me and fell asleep that way scared. I’m not complaining.
But I fell asleep, too. And woke up thinking I’d been there for the whole night based on the number of times I got smacked in the face. Turns out it was only 1:25. So I crawled my way back to my bed and burrowed under the blankets. It’s 27 degrees outside, and my house is perfectly cold. And I laid there trying to get warm and felt increasingly sad on the inside.
My arms have felt heavy lately. They’ve felt so empty. It’s been an often present reminder of what I do not have. And tonight as I snuggled up with my first babe and then laid thinking in my bed, I wanted so badly to be holding my baby tight, wrapping him up warmly on these cold winter nights. I know what I’m missing, and my heart longs for it.
It’s a night like tonight when I get exactly why my precious friend, Kelly, gave me this sweet gift 4 days after we learned that Gabriel would die.
She told me that it was something for me to physically hold on to when my heart hurt and I just needed something to hold in my arms. Someone had given her something similar when her babies died, and it brought comfort. I’ve very much appreciated the gift since that day she gave it to me, but it really wasn’t until tonight that I realized just how special and perfect this gift is. There is something comforting about physically holding tight to something when my arms ache of emptiness.
So tonight as I sit here bundled up, wrapped up in my blankets, drinking hot cider, and holding on tight to my little kangaroo, I am going to offer a heart of thanksgiving – even though it’s really hard and it isn’t coming naturally. And I’m going to allow my heart to be comforted and trust that it will be. And I will be thankful for the warmth that we have here and continue grieving the loss of our precious little G.