Don't you always have to know where you've been before you know where the hell you're going

So maybe this has nothing to do with Brody or perhaps it has everything to with him. I do actually feel like he is my idea guy. I've always thought that him in God serve me ideas. I mean, they aren't always on a silver platter. Heck, I feel like they are grits sometimes in a dirty bowl.  They aren't even ideas that I want or I think I need. Until they almost get right up in my face and say it. "Mom... Do this". "Tia... Do this". 

Then my past weeks. Past months and days seem to be all signs and I agree to take on what should have been obvious. 

" WRITE" they screamed this time. It's what you do. It's how you deal. It's how you help. It's how you heal. 

I was missing something. Not my 4 year normal missing of my son, that piece will never be back. It's empty forever but a new piece of puzzle Tia. 

Something creative. Something deeper and more meaningful than the ordinary. 

I wasn't feeling. I was healing. I wasn't helping like "they" wanted and needed me to. They aren't disappointed. It could be that they got frustrated because I let my self get so distracted from their usual signs. 

"WRITE!!!!"  

Okay. Okay. I get it now. I'm still collecting pieces and I haven't even started to build. I'm gathering and just sifting through but I know how to start these type of puzzles. I've put them together before. ☺️

So I'm starting today reflecting on where I've been. In all aspects of my life. Metaphorically, emotionally, literally, spiritually  you know.... In hopes that revisiting those can send me in the right direction of where I'm going. 

Riding the storm

It's been so long. Right? Or was it just yesterday? So long since I've had the desire to write, the time to write, the feelings to write. 

Has it really been 4 years? Today? 

Today, we visited the cemetery and I watched Isaac put "flowers" on his brother's  headstone. It was beautiful and devastating. 

The absolute hardest part about the last 4 years has been the inability to break down. I cannot. If you have children, you know why. God knew by blessing me with a rainbow baby, that it would consume my time. He needs me. I cannot break down. 

That's the thing with me. Grief has no happy medium. I'm either drowning in my misery or the strongest damn person you've ever met. 

Even though the first year was full of support, I was alone. My husband I grieved. If our situation was a tornado, we were in the dead center. I cried every single day. All day. On and off. It rained or it poured. There was no clearing. The sun never shined. The storm picked me up and threw me around like a rag doll. My world had been shattered and there was no safe area. No shelter.  the next storm was seconds away. I waited for it and sometimes I chased it! 

Today, I have to run from it. I cannot let the wind of that storm pick me up and throw me around. I have to find the shelter and stare at it from a distance. I explain to Isaac the whirlwind and the tragedy of it all but we just watch it. He knows his brother is in heaven with God but he doesn't know that his mother used to ride the storm and let it rip her to shreds. And that's ok. He doesn't need to. 

He doesn't need to know that I would put myself in the most darkest and dangerous spot in the storm and lay there. Calling upon it to "take me away". The stiff drinks at 3 pm. The hours of rocking and listening to sad music. The deep and dark injuries I would just ask for. The way I used to stare at my belly in the mirror and secretly cuss at it for ruining my life but then in the next moment, watch phantom kicks that my mind created. It was the closest thing to full blown insanity I've ever experienced and yet, I dove into it head first knowing that I was letting it consume me.  I needed to be close to my storm. Aka my grief. 

All Isaac needs to know is that he is my rainbow and that I came out alive.