Time is such an abstract, intangible thing to me lately.  I had no idea it’d been so long since I blogged until I sat down just now.  I thought it had been 3-5 days, tops.  The ticking of the anniversary bomb just keeps getting louder and louder and I can’t seem to hear the actual clock anymore.  It’s such an odd thing.  It’s his death and his birth, right there, a month away.  As I typed that last sentence, I just now put together that it’s been one year and eleven months since he blew out candles for his birthday, but just eleven months and one day since he died.  It’s not right.  It shouldn’t be like this.

We mustered up the courage and took family pictures.  I took Caleb’s “timeout” chair, a picture, and three yellow balloons…to represent how old he’d be right now.  Sheesh, he spent a lot of time in that chair!  He must have really liked it.  Sometimes, I’d catch him with a book, sitting in it as he thumbed through the pages.  Maybe it was the quiet, secluded spot he liked most.

There’s been so many opportunities to share his story, our message, since he died.  The last month has been no different.  There’s actually been a ton of things going on.  I sometimes feel like I’m on autopilot.  Other times, I just feel like I’m broken…and just how I can’t quite figure out.  I don’t know what the “right” balance is.  I don’t think there is one, but that’s what I hear in my head.

Where is the line between functioning and living everyday life with this new normal and letting him go too much?

I can’t hold on to him too tightly all the time.  I can’t function when I do that.  The pain is crippling.  Anything less than that though feels like I’m leaving him behind sometimes.  I can’t let his memory fade.

Where is the line between functional remembrance and fading memory?

I have one kiddo with a less than stellar memory and a difficult time allowing emotions to be felt.  The emotions get buried to avoid the pain, but the memories get buried with them.  Then, the guilt hits and the frustration and panic over not remembering enough details of what everyday life with Bub was like.  That’s when I come in with stories and sound imitations, home movies, pictures, mimicking movement, etc.

My memory needs to stay sharp.  I spent more time with Caleb than anyone.  I brought him into this world.  He was torn away.  I have to mend that tear.  It will never heal.  The tapestry of our lives is torn.  When his presence was ripped from our tapestry, a hole was left and my section began to unravel.  I began to fall away from life, feeling, family, friends.  I’ve had to decide to pick up that long, unraveled thread and stitch myself back into life.  It’s a messy zig zag that jumps all over the heaven hole.  It’s what’s left of Caleb in this life.  It’s the memories, the work, the good, the hurt, the pain.  It’s a beautiful, perfect mess.   I need to make sure he is remembered… for everything he was and is, everything he taught us, everything he gave.  We need there to be meaning and purpose in this.  We need good to come from it.  There needs to be light in the darkness.  Otherwise, to what end did he die?

So, I will hold our tapestry high.  I will share it fiercely and boldly.  I will share his life and love.  I will fight for good to come.  This is what holds that thread.  Without it, the whole thing unravels.


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