Today's Grief

Wow, I was blown away today by som incredible grief.  The kind of pain that hits hard from out of nowhere and keeps hitting hard.  Yesterday was a really good day, and I had no idea that today would hit the way it did.  Somehow, Ethan picked up on it before me.  This is the first time he's been aware in the same way Colton is.

Today was the kids Christmas party for MOPS.  Usually this is a fun time where the kids do crafts, have a paper snowball fight, received gifts, and decorate cupcakes for Jesus.  This morning as I was getting ready to leave, the reality of it hit me.  I won't have ANY kids in there.  Colton and Ethan are in school.  Lucas and Caleb aren't here with me.  I should have two toddlers, dressed in matching flannel pajamas, trying to eat more icing than is going on the cupcake.  Yet, I was going to be there, without any kiddos to chase.  It was like hitting a wall of ice.  Hard, cold truth right there. 

With those thoughts, I began the downward spiral into the grief abyss.  The past day or so, I read or heard grief being a life sentence.  These words resonated throughout my head all morning.  How unfair this all is.  Not only do I have to go through the worst emotional pain there is, but it will always be there.  There will never be a Christmas when they aren't missing.  And although the pain is mostly under the surface, there will always be days when it rears its ugly head. There were tears, snot, blubbering, and even my first case of hives this morning.  Grief in all its ugliness.

I miss Lucas and Caleb so much right now.  The hole that is left is gaping and ragged on days like today.  Every thought tears through that hole and brings on more tears.  I am grateful for the friends who remind me how our loss is still recent, and I am grateful for their timeline.  They are friends who always know the right things to say to me, and whose presence, even on the phone, brings me further away from the black hole of grief.  I am so grateful for them.

Well, I am going to lie down and get some rest.  Grief leaves a pretty nasty hangover.